Little Boy Blue

81

‘So why do you do it?’

Samantha arched an eyebrow, but said nothing, examining her nails.

‘Is it about you? The victims? What is it about them that gets you riled?’

‘Why should I hate them? They are nobodies.’

‘So maybe it’s about you, Michael.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘It’s your name, isn’t it? Michael James Parker.’ Helen pulled a couple more sheets of paper from her file. ‘Born just outside Portsmouth, second child of Anna and Nicholas Parker, brother to Leoni. Are your parents still alive?’

‘No, thank fuck.’

‘But Leoni is. She’s had to post bail for you on a number of occasions, hasn’t she?’

‘If you say so.’

‘I see you’ve got form for credit card fraud. Tell me about that.’

‘I was working at a café. Management took all the tips and I needed some money to survive -’

‘So you lifted customers’ credit cards and then what?’

‘I feathered my nest.’

‘Until you got caught.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Also charges of affray, assault… and false imprisonment.’

‘That was bullshit.’

‘Your victim didn’t think so.’

‘It was a game that went wrong.’

‘Went wrong how?’

‘I thought the guy had balls. Turned out he hadn’t.’

‘It’s never your fault, is it? Everything we’ve talked about so far -’

‘Why should it be my fault?’

Samantha snarled as she said it. Her female carapace was slipping now, her voice low and breathy, revealing a masculine side that was usually hidden from view.

‘Tell me, when did you realize that you wanted to be Samantha, rather than Michael?’ Helen said, changing tack once more.

‘I didn’t realize, I knew.’

‘So it was from birth.’

‘Of course. I was just born wrong.’

‘And this desire to be a woman, how did it express itself when you were a kid?’

‘How do you think? I had a mother and a sister.’

‘You borrowed their clothes?’

‘Sure. My mother said she never knew, but she did.’

‘And your father?’

Samantha suddenly threw her head back and laughed.

‘He definitely didn’t know. Not initially at least…’

‘And when he did?’

‘What do you think?’

‘He beat you?’

‘Have a look at my past medical records. You’ll see a lot of accidents there.’

‘How long did this go on for?’

‘Until he sent me away. He decided my mum and sister were the problem, so he packed me off to boarding school.’

Helen watched Samantha closely. The pain of this separation was still evident.

‘It was all boys and I hated it. Nowhere to dress, no one to talk to and then puberty, God help me.’

‘Your voice broke?’

‘And the body hair, and walking round with a giant pair of balls between my legs like a fucking ape.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I cut myself, played the fool, I messed up in pretty much every subject I took. Still I was bullied to shit. Turns out the boys there didn’t like sissies any more than my dad did.’

‘So you’ve always been a victim of violence?’

‘Pretty much, though they saved the best till last. I took their abuse for five years then one day I thought “fuck it”. I turned up at the sixth-form disco dressed as Samantha. Immaculate, I was, far better-looking than the rest of the sad sacks there. And you know what? Nobody said a bad word to me. No, they waited until I was on my way back to the dorm. Doctors said I was lucky not to lose my sight.’

Samantha was looking directly at Helen, her eyes boring into hers.

‘And the scar… on your face?’

‘A present from my dad when I was eventually expelled.’

Helen nodded. She instinctively disliked Samantha, but her story was not so dissimilar to hers. The wounds inflicted by family are the deepest of all.

‘Do you still self-harm?’

Samantha gave Helen a withering look that answered strongly in the affirmative.

‘Do you think that’s why you’re drawn to recreational violence? To BDSM?’

‘I’m not a shrink, sweetheart. Are you?’

Helen smiled and shook her head. She didn’t like her attitude, but she was talking, which was good.

‘Tell me what you like to do when you’re having a session? What’s your taste?’

‘The usual.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Restraint, role play, punishment, isolation techniques, sensory deprivation -’

‘Edge Play?’

‘It’s been known.’

‘Give me some examples.’

Samantha looked at Helen. She had been warming to her, becoming almost garrulous and sociable, but now Helen saw her hesitate.

‘In one of Max Paine’s previous entries against your name – or your initial at least – he’s written Phoenix. Can you explain that to me?’

Samantha looked dead straight at Helen. Was she looking for an excuse not to answer the question? A way out?

‘We’re not due to break for another thirty minutes, so please answer the question.’

‘I’d like a lawyer now.’

‘Your brief is on her way and should be here soon. In the meantime, what does Paine mean by “Phoenix”?’

‘It’s a scenario.’

‘A scenario you act out?’

‘Of course.’

‘Describe it to me. Samantha, you can look away all you want, but I prom-’

‘It’s a scenario in which the bottom comes out on top, ok?’

‘So the victim – you – are in control.’

‘Right. Sometimes you act out a little bit first, where the top verbally abuses you, beats you up, but then the tables are turned.’

‘Meaning that eventually you are the one handing out the punishment.’

‘The Phoenix rising.’

As she said it, a smile crept over Samantha’s face. Did she feel she was finally getting the upper hand with Helen too?

‘Did you act out the Phoenix with Max Paine?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘I don’t mean in the past,’ Helen butted in, ‘I mean on Thursday night. Is that what you wanted? Is that what he offered you?’

Samantha took a long time to think about her answer, before she finally said:

‘Yes.’