Chapter Three
An Unusual Case
“I don’t know what to make of it.” Jason Durham drained the pint glass of beer to the bottom. “I’ll go to the bar and get us another. You can tell me what you think when I come back.”
“Just a Coke for me,” said Ryman Blair, his business partner. “I’ve got to drive home after this. I need to pick Chloe up from swimming in”—he checked his watch—“forty minutes.”
Jason slid out of his chair and crossed the wood-panelled room to the bar. The torrential rain had not stopped, and the wooden floor was starting to take on the heady smell of damp. His trousers were still wet around the calves. The New Inn was a three-minute walk from the office, but Jason and Ryman had got soaked as they pelted down the street.
It had just gone six-thirty. Most evenings at this time the pub would be doing a decent post-work trade, but the filthy weather had kept a lot of punters away. There were only three other customers in the bar. Jason ordered another pint of craft ale for himself and the Coke for Ryman then carried the drinks back to the table.
Though they were just a two-man detective agency, Ryman was the founder of the business and the senior partner. He was forty-six, built like a mountain, and Jason’s best friend as well as colleague.
“Well?” Jason asked, slipping into the seat. His trousers were damp on the arse too and he shuffled to get comfortable.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Ryman said, shrugging his shoulders. “It sounds interesting to me.”
“But Soloman Archer. I don’t know. A man like that could close us down if he catches me snooping into his private life. He’s connected.”
“Fuck him.” Ryman laughed. “Seriously? You can’t be scared of him? He’ll be out at the next election. Maybe well before that if Nadine’s story has any truth to it. The man’s on borrowed time.”
“It’s not just that. The whole sex angle makes me feel awkward. Do I really want to trawl through the sexual activities of a dead man?”
There was something about the whole case that made Jason uneasy. He couldn’t nail it down to anything more than a niggling feeling, but it wouldn’t go away.
“You’ll be helping a grieving family. Nadine’s suspicions about Soloman are probably nothing more than bullshit, but if she thinks she’s got enough juice on Theo, she’ll run with that instead. You might be able to head her off and bury the details before she can even find them.”
“Hmm.” Jason sipped the foamy head off his pint.
“It’s not like you to be prudish.”
“I’m not. ”
“So why are you clutching your pearls because the victim was a sex worker. He deserves justice as much as any client. Take the bloody case.”
Jason sighed. Ryman was right, as always. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s strange, that’s all. Why doesn’t this Marc guy just tell his parents anyway? Why does he want all this evidence.”
“Didn’t he say Theo was the parents’ favourite? They won’t believe a word Marc says against him unless he’s got solid proof. They’re as likely to turn on him for tarnishing the memory of their precious child.”
Jason had already done a quick search on Theo Glass, or rather Hart Stone as he was known online. It hadn’t taken long to find his Hot-4-Fans profile, and while the sexy stuff was hidden behind a paywall, Theo had posted plenty of explicit photos and videos to his free social media accounts to drum up business. It was all there, if you knew where to look. He was a good-looking lad who’d managed to hang on to his twinky appeal well into his late twenties. He had a lot of followers too, even now. The connection between Theo Glass, the Blyham man killed in a hit-and-run, and Hart Stone, the self-described hot-to-fuck-cum-dump, hadn’t been made. There was no mention on any of the Hart Stone accounts that he had died.
Jason took a long swallow. The ale was going someway towards easing his tension.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “If Marc wants to pay us to dig around his brother’s personal life, we shouldn’t complain.”
“Exactly. It sounds like an easy job.”
“Have you heard of Marc Glass?” Jason asked.
Ryman furrowed his brow. “Should I have?”
Jason pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “I did a quick internet search on him too. It turns out he’s kind of famous. You know the TV show The Partnership ? He was on that. It was a few years ago now, but he actually won it.”
The Partnership was a blatant rip-off of The Apprentice , a reality TV show in which fifteen hopefuls competed against each other in business-themed challenges. One contestant was eliminated after each episode with the ultimate winner taking home a ￡200,000 investment. Marc had used the prize money to set up a factory in Peterlee that produced farming machinery. In the few minutes Jason had spent snooping, the business seemed like a big deal, exporting products worldwide.
He brought up a photo of Marc from when he was on the show. He was a lot younger-looking. It was a good fifteen years since his win.
Ryman looked at the phone. “Oh, yeah. I do remember him. I never watched it, but it was everywhere at the time. He was in the local papers and news stations. They loved that Blyham-boy-made-good story. He’s done well for himself.”
“Another reason for Nadine Smythe to be interested in the story, don’t you think? An MP, a dead sex worker and the reality TV star brother.”
“It ticks a lot of boxes. And another reason to beat her to the punch, don’t you think?”
“Go on then, you’ve got me. I’ll take the case.”
“We can’t afford for you not to,” Ryman said.
“Things aren’t that bad.”
“There’re not that great, either. We need every decent job we can get. Besides, this one will be a walk in the park for you. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”
When Ryman left to collect his daughter, Jason considered staying for another drink, but the atmosphere in The New Inn was nonexistent. The weather was no better, and it was clear that most people had decided to stay home. He’d walked to work that morning and with no desire to get soaked again walking back, he arranged an Uber.
Home was a rented two-bedroom flat in a modern building overlooking the river Bly. The rent was extortionate, but he loved living in the heart of the city too much to find somewhere cheaper. The dash from the car to the foyer meant he was soaked all the way through again.
Jason poured a strong vodka and Coke and turned on the air-fryer before going to the bedroom. He stripped naked and took a quick shower to warm his cold skin. Freshly dried, he pulled on an old T-shirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms. He was thinking about Marc again when he put a chicken breast on to cook and mixed up some couscous with chopped peppers.
The one thing he hadn’t admitted to Ryman was just how attractive he found his new client. He’d have to be blind not to. Marc was hot. Incredibly . He was tall and athletically built with grey-blue eyes and a rugged, square jaw. His beard and short brown hair were streaked with grey, which only made him more attractive. He was quite serious-looking, and sexy rather than traditionally handsome. Some people might not find him attractive at all, but to Jason’s eyes he was a near ten out of ten.
Which was another thing that made him uncomfortable.
From a professional angle, it was much better not to fancy the client.
While Marc had talked him through the details of the case, Jason had had to force himself to focus. To stop wondering what he looked like naked, and how big his dick was. While the investigation would involve him looking over the many hours of sex tape footage shot by his brother, all Jason wanted to do was look at naked photos of Marc. Or, even better, the real thing.
Get a grip. You work for the man now. You can’t think like this .
Jason plated up his dinner and ate it at the kitchen counter with a twenty-four-hour news channel playing on the TV in the background. He didn’t pay much attention to the headlines— his mind was already elsewhere, still thinking about Marc and the case. Once he’d finished and loaded the dishwasher, he poured another vodka and retired to the sofa with his laptop and notebook. He knew he should begin with a deep dive into Theo Glass, but when he opened a search tab, it was Marc’s name he entered.
The hits all related to his success on The Partnership , accompanied with lots of photos of the fresh-faced winner. Marc had been twenty-nine at the time. He didn’t have a beard back then and his hair was all brown. He was square-jawed and good-looking, but lacked the characteristics of the man he had met today. Now in his mid-forties, Marc had certainly improved with age.
After a quick trawl of his Wikipedia bio, Jason discovered that Marc had been married, and his husband had died in 2021. Another rapid search revealed the reason for Marc’s distrust of Nadine Smythe.
The Partnership’s star’s husband dies of Covid read her headline. The accompanying article was full of hyperbole and inflammatory language, illustrated by photos of an exhausted-looking Marc wearing a face mask to visit the hospital. An even more intrusive shot further down showed Marc crying in his car, gripping the wheel, pain and grief carved across his face.
“You nasty bitch,” Jason muttered. No wonder he hates you .
There was another photograph of the couple in happier times. Jack Badiel and Marc Glass were a handsome pair. They were around the same age and build. Jack had warm brown eyes and an infectious smile. It was a surprise to see Marc, who had appeared so serious-looking, smiling so widely beside him. Their love for each other was clear in the image. They made a beautiful pair.
Jack’s funeral had taken place at the height of the Covid-19 restrictions, when such events had been limited to immediate family only. That hadn’t stopped the Blyham Chronicle photographer from intruding on their grief. Long-lensed images had captured Marc’s anguish as he and four other mourners accompanied Jack’s coffin into the crematorium.
Jason found himself simmering in anger on their behalf. The man’s misery had already been exploited once for the sake of a splashy headline—now the same shitty journalist and paper wanted to do it all over again. Marc’s husband and his brother had died well before their time. What Nadine was doing was all wrong.
Marc had approached the agency seeking help.
Jason was determined to provide it.
He closed the tabs on Marc and opened a new window, this time searching for ‘Hart Stone Hot-4-Fans’. Nadine would base her story around Theo’s sex work, so that’s where he’d have to start. He soon discovered that Hart Stone had profiles on more than one adult platform. It was distasteful that they were all still open to new subscribers. He guessed that Marc had limited knowledge of how these websites worked and probably didn’t know where to begin to get them closed down. Jason made a note to start the process in the morning, but, for now, he needed access.
He took out subscriptions on each of the sites and began to work through them, video by video. The bulk of Theo’s content was solo stuff—wanking, showing off, playing with a variety of dildos. He wasn’t interested in any of those just yet, and instead focused on the clips where he appeared with other performers.
The first was titled Cummer X ruins my tight boy hole . Jason clicked on the video and began to take notes. Cummer X was a muscular black man with an enormous cock. They were obviously in a hotel room. Jason paused the clip to study the room, searching for any small details that might give away where they were. They’d been smart enough to remove the bed runners and pillows bearing any motif. They had also cleared the dresser of room service menus and tourist information. From the size of the room, and the quality of the bedding and décor, this was no cheap motel. Jason scribbled a note— hotel 4 stars and above?
He restarted the clip and concentrated on what he could hear.
Theo’s dialogue was cringy. “Destroy this white boy pussy with your big black cock.” Despite the bad porn histrionics, his northern accent came through clearly.
Cummer X bent the white boy over the dresser and pounded his arse mercilessly.
“Take this big black cock,” Cummer said. His delivery was as stiff as his dick, but Jason noted another northeast accent. If they were both local boys, then it was highly likely they had shot this in one of the nearby hotels. The Vermont? Theo had been close to there when he was hit by the car that had killed him. He scribbled more notes.
The camera swept between Cummer’s legs to get a clear shot of his cock sliding in and out of Theo and his balls slapping his underside with each inward thrust. That meant they hadn’t filmed themselves with cameras on tripods. There was at least one other person in the room with them.
Jason updated his notes and got up to make another vodka and Coke. He had a massive task ahead. He’d have to go through each of these collaborations and find out how many other performers Theo regularly worked with, then it would be a process of cross-referencing with their accounts and social media profiles to see if he could contact any of them.
If he could speak to Cummer X or any of the other models, he’d gain valuable insight into Theo’s life. The more he discovered, the more he’d be able to help Marc.
It was going to be a long night with no guarantee that he would find anything, but Jason would not be deterred. He hit play on the next clip.