Chapter Four
Hostile Reception
Jason was surprised to check his messages the following morning and discover that, of the eight men he’d reached out to overnight, two had already replied. Cummer X and a guy who performed under the name of Trace Grey. Trace was one of Theo’s more unlikely co-stars. A pale-skinned, thin young man with a sour expression. He would never have troubled the porn world were it not for his massive penis. He boasted in his profile that it was thirteen inches long. Jason didn’t doubt it. The beast was out of all proportion with his slight frame. His reply to Jason was to the point:
Get to fuck.
When Jason attempted to communicate further, he found that Trace had blocked him on all of his socials. Interesting . He made a note to dig a little deeper into Trace’s real identity.
Cummer X was more forthcoming .
Theo was a nice guy. I liked him a lot. I’ll help in any way I can.
He even provided Jason with a phone number. Jackpot .
Jason quickly keyed the number into his phone and hit dial. After a few rings it went straight to voice mail.
“Hi, this is Dan. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
So, his real name was Dan. This was an encouraging start. Dan was clearly comfortable to share with him and had made no attempt to hide his identity. “Hi, Dan. This is Jason Durham, regarding Theo Glass. I appreciate your willingness to give me your number. Please call me back when you get this message. I’d love to talk to you.”
Jason showered, clipped his beard to a tidy stubble and got dressed. He put on one of his favourite jockstraps, a burgundy pouch with a thick, logoed waistband and wide white straps. He usually kept his jocks for weekend wear, but today he felt like wearing something sexier than his basic work briefs. Jockstraps gave him an extra confidence. Made him feel more attractive. He loved the pressure of the straps beneath his bare butt cheeks.
He checked his arse in the mirror. Jason was ex-military and continued to maintain a disciplined fitness regime in civilian life. Sure, there was a bit more meat on his frame now than when he’d been in service, but it suited him. CrossFit sessions kept him in good shape and the extra weight gave him a strong, beefy arse.
“Not bad,” he said to his reflection, slapping his cheeks and watching how they jiggled .
Would Marc find that attractive? Is he a big arse man or more interested in dick?
Jason reminded himself that it didn’t matter. Marc was a client, not a potential hook-up.
But as he pulled on a pair of black chinos and a light blue shirt, he couldn’t help wondering about Marc’s physique. Last night he’d seen every inch of his brother’s body, but physically Marc and Theo seemed like complete opposites. Theo had been slender and long-limbed. He’d had pale-blond hair, but the freckles on his forehead and shoulders suggested to Jason that he’d really been ginger and had lightened his hair for a more striking effect. Marc was more manly. Broad and thick-set. His old photos showed that Marc had never been a twinky type. When he’d appeared on The Partnership , Marc would have been roughly the same age Theo had been when he died, and he’d been far more masculine even then.
He couldn’t imagine Marc bending over and spreading his arse cheeks for all comers, the way Theo had done in so many of his videos.
Though Jason wouldn’t mind if he did. He’d drop to his knees and stuff his face between those manly cheeks.
Stop it. For fuck’s sake .
What the hell had got into him? Maybe it had been staying up late and watching all that adult content that had put sex firmly on his mind this morning.
He had to get over it. He was a professional with a job to do.
Jason had a good breakfast of natural yoghurt, followed by two poached eggs on sourdough, before putting on his shoes and his waterproof jacket. The torrential rain of yesterday had stopped, but the sky over the river was a leaden grey and he was taking no chances after the soaking he’d got last night.
He went to the underground garage to collect his car. Most days he preferred to walk to the office but today he would have to do a bit of travelling around. He drove a three-year-old Nissan Micra. Hardly the sexiest or sportiest of cars, but it was the perfect vehicle for city driving. Some of the car parks in Blyham were ancient, with parking bays far tighter than most modern vehicles could cope with. Jason was confident that he could get his little Micra into the snuggest of spaces. He also hated driving and had little interest in cars or their specifications. Anything larger would be a waste of fuel and money.
Ryman was in the kitchen when he got to the office, just after eight-thirty. Olivia wouldn’t be in until nine-fifteen, after the school run.
“Well?” Ryman asked. The kettle was already boiling. He dropped tea bags into two mugs.
Jason fetched the milk from the fridge. “I’m going to run with it. For a few days at least, to see how much I can find.”
Ryman nodded, satisfied.
“I’ve already started.” He told him about the inroads he’d made during the night with Dan, aka Cummer X. “I’m hopeful that some of the other men will contact me today. They may not have seen my messages yet.”
“What about the one who told you to get fucked?”
Jason chuckled. “I’ll find him eventually. It might just take a bit more digging.”
“Anything else?”
“I want to locate the places where Theo shot his films. He seemed to use two locations for the majority of them. One is a hotel, pretty ritzy. I’m sure it’s somewhere here in the city. The other looks like a private bedroom. I’m wondering whether Theo or one of the other models fitted out one of their own rooms as a private studio and rented it out for filming.”
“It’s a whole new world,” Ryman remarked, pouring boiling water over the tea bags. “I’ve got a spare room. I wonder if I could spruce it up and earn a bit of extra on the side.”
“I doubt you’d get much peace. Those guys seem relentless when it comes to shagging. I don’t know how some of them ever walk again after doing the things they do. It goes beyond a full-time job.”
“Is it worth it? How much money do they make?”
“I need to speak to Marc about accessing Theo’s bank statements, but I can’t see how it can be that lucrative. He only charged five pounds for his monthly subscriptions and would often run special officers for as little as three pounds a month. It’s less than the price of a cup of coffee. Maybe the online content was only an advertisement for his escorting services. I need to dig further into that.”
“And find out whether he really escorted for Soloman Archer.”
Jason nodded. “That’s the big question, all right.”
* * * *
Soloman Archer’s constituency office was located in the south side of the city, on a street of terraced houses built in the 1920s. They were all large, three-storey properties that had long since been converted into business space. Soloman was placed between a law firm and a cosmetic surgery clinic .
That afternoon, Jason spent a full fifteen minutes driving around until he found an available parking space, five minutes’ walk from the office. He’d spent the bulk of the morning on another case, tracking down a shady accountant in order to serve him with injunction papers. It was drizzling when he got out of the car, and cold, not a damn sight fairer than it had been twenty-four hours earlier. The other cars that lined the streets were all worth three to six times the value of his own humble vehicle.
He rarely had much call to visit this area of the city. It was the moneyed section of Blyham. As he made his way towards Soloman’s office, he noted an upmarket hairdresser, an artisan bakery, high-end coffee shops and small boutiques. It was a long way from the chain stores and fast-food eateries of the city centre. These were the kinds of people who would vote for Soloman Archer in an otherwise neglected and deprived city that gained little to no benefit from central government.
Jason had no time for mainstream politics. As far as he was concerned they were all as bent as each other. Come election time, he always voted for the candidate he believed would do the best for the local area, regardless of what party they represented. Soloman Archer would never get his cross on a ballot paper.
He opened the blue front door into a narrow passage. The layout was not dissimilar to the foyer of Blair and Co, only it had been decorated a lot more recently than their own premises had. The carpet, blue of course, still had the smell of newness about it. A large, framed poster of Soloman dominated the wall to the right. The man who gets things done, the tagline claimed. He was dressed in a grey suit and navy tie, with his arms folded. There was something almost attractive about his smile, but the humour did not reach his eyes. They gazed blankly at Jason from behind the glass frame.
Is this really the kind of man to fuck cheap male escorts? Soloman didn’t seem the type. Jason had spent his lunch break watching a handful of his official videos on YouTube. He was smooth and superficially charming. He talked big about family values and tradition. Yep, that’s exactly the type of hypocrite who resorts to sex workers on the side.
He went upstairs. The reception area was a lot brighter and more modern than their own office. A woman in her early sixties, with big, wavy hair and large framed glasses, greeted him with a smile.
“Good afternoon. How may I help you?” The words came out without any feeling. A real Stepford receptionist.
“I’d like to speak to Mr Archer.”
“Mr Archer is in Parliament at the moment,” she had a tone of self-importance.
“And when will he be back on home soil?” Jason gave his most charming smile.
Her eyes wavered uncertainly before she snapped back into efficiency mode. “Mr Soloman’s next surgery is a week on Friday. I can check the availability if you’d like to make an appointment.”
“Are you in charge around here? When Soloman’s away. Miss, er…” He peered at her name badge. “Trish Wait.”
“That’s Mrs Wait. May I ask what this is about? Mr Archer’s time is very limited.”
Jason produced his ID. “Jason Durham. I’m a private investigator. Mr Archer is going to want to speak to me sooner rather than later. I can assure you of that, Mrs Wait. Now, when do you think I can talk to him?”
She was thrown. “I…well…I…”
A new voice cut across the room. “What exactly is the problem here?”
An incredibly attractive woman of around fifty had appeared in a doorway to the right. She was tall, with a Pilates-perfect posture and immaculate grooming. Her honey-coloured hair was thick and lush, and her make-up looked like it had been applied by a professional. The creases in her blue trousers were razor sharp, while her cream blouse was made of the highest quality silk. None of that came off a rail.
She spoke to Mrs Wait. “Is there a problem?”
The older woman looked lost. Speech had deserted her.
Jason raised his ID card in the newcomer’s direction. “Jason Durham, private investigator. Are you in charge?”
She looked him over with cold eyes. He noticed a slight downward twitch of her mouth. “Chantelle Readymarcher. Mrs . I’m Mr Archer’s personal assistant.”
Of course you are . She looked exactly how he’d imagine a politician’s PA would look.
“So, you’re the one I need to speak to about arranging a meeting.”
Chantelle crossed her arms. “I thought private investigators were supposed to be intelligent. You’re either not every bright or you’re deaf. Mrs Wait has already explained that you can make an appointment to see Mr Archer at his monthly surgery.” She turned to Mrs Wait. “Does Mr Archer have any availability for next week? ”
Mrs Wait moved closer to her computer screen and squinted. “It looks like he’s fully booked.”
Chantelle returned her gaze to Jason, triumph twinkling in her eyes. “There you go then. It will have to be next month. Mrs Wait can book you in for that.” She turned dismissively.
“I need to speak to Mr Archer about Theo Glass.”
As she turned, he watched her face for any reaction.
She gave an airy shrug. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“I don’t know,” he said, stepping towards her, studying her for any sign that the name registered. “It would depend on how personal your work for Mr Archer goes. You’ve never heard of Theo?”
Chantelle let out an exasperated sigh and closed her eyes. She opened them again, fixing him with an icy stare. “No. Should I have?”
“Theo Glass was killed by a hit-and-run driver in front of the Vermont Hotel last December.”
She softened, just a fraction. “I remember that. It was an accident, as I recall. I don’t see what it has to do with Mr Archer.”
“It’s my understanding that they knew each other.”
“And?”
“I need to talk to him about what happened to Theo. And his relationship with him.”
Chantelle’s mouth took another downward twitch. “And I’ve already told you, you can make an appointment to see Mr Archer next month. Otherwise, you can direct any questions to him in writing. All of his contact details are available on the website.”
“This can’t wait.”
She didn’t flinch. “I’m afraid it will have to. Now, it’s time you left. ”
He would get no further with this one. Chantelle Readymarcher protected her boss like a lioness and her cub. There was one more thing he could try. “If the name Theo Glass doesn’t get a reaction from Mr Archer, here’s another one you can run by him. Nadine Smythe.”
There it was. Almost imperceptible, if he hadn’t been looking for it. A slight twitch in the muscles above her mouth. He had struck a nerve.
Jason thrust his card into Chantelle’s palm. “Tell your boss that Nadine is researching a story about him and Theo Glass. It’s in his best interest to speak to me rather than her.”
“Who are you working for? Someone must have hired you.”
He’d really caught her now. Jason smiled and moved towards the door. “Just have him call me. He’ll be grateful that he did.”