Chapter Ten
The Ex-boyfriend
Blyham Castle sat in the oldest quarter of the city, on a small peninsula jutting into the river Bly. It dated back to 1272 and had been designated a cultural World Heritage Site since 1985. Like many local people, Jason realised that he failed to appreciate the importance of such a historic building right on his doorstep. He’d first visited the castle on a school trip when he was thirteen years old and had been bored out of his mind. Then later, when he’d attended a wedding reception in the main hall, he’d been too drunk to grasp the importance of the location.
Whenever he went to other cities such as Edinburgh or Cardiff, their castles were always top of his places to visit, but because this had been there his entire life, he scarcely gave it a thought.
It wasn’t tourism that brought him to the castle on a dull afternoon in March.
He pulled into the visitor’s car park and paid the extortionate fees for an hour. Though it was dry when he got out of the car, a cutting wind came up the river from the North Sea. He fastened his jacket to the neck. He had no intention of paying the entry fee to enter the castle walls and bided his time at the entrance, getting a takeaway cup of tea to warm his hands.
His investigation had taken a surprising turn late last night when he’d been contacted by an old friend of Theo’s. More than just a friend, Theo’s ex. Roaul Bhatt had heard he’d been reaching out to Theo’s acquaintances and had made the first move. Jason doubted he would have found Roaul on his own. Theo’s social media profile were strictly Hart Stone business accounts, and he hadn’t posted anything personal about his real life. Roaul hadn’t featured anywhere. Roaul told Jason that the news of Dan Blumel’s death had shocked him into coming forward.
Jason loitered around the entrance until two-thirty, when a man of Indian heritage walked out. He didn’t know what Roaul looked like, but this man was around thirty and wearing the polo shirt and hoodie of the castle guides. This had to be him.
“Hi.” Jason stepped towards him. “Roaul?”
The man nodded. His was very handsome in a wholesome, boy-next-door kind of way. Not at all like the sex-fantasy boys he’d seen in most of Theo’s videos. He carried a lunch box and a Thermos flask.
Another nod. “We can go over there.” He pointed to an empty picnic table on the other side of the car park. It was hardly picnicking weather, but Roaul said, “I’ve only got twenty-five minutes for lunch today, so I’ll have to eat while we talk.”
“Whatever is best for you,” Jason said, falling into step beside him.
Roaul wasn’t tall, five-seven at most. He knew Theo had been slightly built too and could easily picture them as a couple. They would have made an attractive pair.
“Thanks for getting in touch and meeting me,” he said.
Roaul looked at him, before his eyes darted away. “I thought people had stopped caring about what happened to Theo.”
“The police, maybe. Theo’s family still care a lot.”
Roaul seemed unconvinced. They sat and he poured a steaming cup of coffee from his flask. Jason took the lid off his tea and blew on the hot contents.
“I take it you never met his family?”
Roaul took a sandwich from his lunch box. It looked like tuna mayo. “No. He never met mine either. We were kind of in our own little bubble.”
“How long were you together?” he spoke softly, not wanting to say anything that would freak Roaul out and cause him to clam up.
He chewed and swallowed. “Not long. About seven months. We finished a few weeks before he died. Though we were still in touch.”
“Who ended the relationship?”
“I did. I knew what Theo did before we got together. I thought I could handle it. For a while I did. He treated what he did as a job. Was professional about it. When we were together, he was only ever focused on me. But as we got more serious about each other, I was the one with the problem. I couldn’t separate who he was from what he did.” He paused to take a sip of coffee before saying, “I was stupid.”
“I think it must be a pretty normal reaction. Not many partners can be so open-minded.”
“I wasn’t open-minded. I was small minded. I worried what people would think of us. I was terrified my family would find out. They would never have understood.”
Jason was touched by the melancholic sound of his voice. Roaul’s deep regret was clear in every word.
“What was he like?”
“Theo?”
“Yes. I never met him. All I know about him is what I’ve seen online and what his brother has told me. I know very little about him as a person.”
Roaul wiped his mouth on a napkin. The first glimmer of a smile appeared on his lips. “He was great. So full of life and enthusiastic about everything. He was a massive ball of energy. Supportive, too. He knew I was having trouble with my father. He was always there to listen when I needed him to be. Even after we broke up, I could still call him when I needed to talk something through.”
It fit with the picture Jason was already beginning to form. The Theo he had seen online was a character, a self-creation. To a degree, he suspected that was also true of the brother Marc had known. There had to be something richer, something deeper about the boy behind Hart Stone.
“That must have made it hard to believe anyone could hurt him.”
Roaul shook his head. “He had his share of haters. Most people who are successful at what they do attract negativity.”
“What do you mean by haters?”
“Trolls. People would send him all kinds of shit. They would comment that he was ugly. That he must be riddled with STDs because of all the sex he had. They called him dirty because of the guys he let fuck him. It was nasty. Theo used to laugh it off, but I don’t believe it didn’t get to him. It must have hurt in some way.”
“Did you ever witness anyone threatening him? Or was it all online?”
“Keyboard warriors. Those people who think they can say what they like from behind the screen of a blank profile.”
“So, he didn’t have any enemies you were aware of?”
Roaul finished the first half of his sandwich. “There was one guy who complained when Theo made more money from one of their collaborations than he did. I never understood the finer details of how it broke down. Sometimes they shared the production and editing costs of their film. Then they would each be able to post it on their own accounts. Other times, Theo footed the bill for the whole lot. Theo had way more fans than the other guys, so naturally he earned a lot more money.”
“I don’t suppose you remember the name of this collaborator?”
“His stage name is Trace Grey. I don’t know what he’s really called.”
Oh, yes. Trace-get-to-fuck-Grey . Jason was still waiting to find out his real name so he could pay him a visit.
Roaul grimaced. “I’m not sure how he made any money. He was ugly inside and out but had a massive dick. I suppose that’s all that matters to some people.”
“Was Theo worried about this guy? Did he ever get physically threatening?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I don’t think so. He’s another one who talks big online but doesn’t have the balls in real life.” Roaul paused with the second sandwich, halfway to his mouth. His brow furrowed. “Oh, hang on. Trace…his real name is something like Tyrone. He used to work at The Viaduct.” He grimaced. “I’ve no idea if he’s still there.”
Jason pulled out his notebook and scribbled the names. The Viaduct was Blyham’s men only sex club. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? If he was trying to track down sex workers, it was an obvious place to start. “Did Theo ever work there?”
“Not while he was with me. He didn’t have to. He earned enough from the websites and occasional escort work.”
Jason pricked up. “You knew about his escorting?”
Roaul chewed and nodded. He swallowed and sipped the coffee. “Theo was open about everything with me from the start. He said it was the only way our relationship could work, through honesty. I thought the same way in the beginning, but then it became too much for me to handle.”
“Did he ever mention Soloman Archer?”
Roaul stiffened. “Theo was a professional. He respected client confidentiality. That’s why they liked him so much.”
“But he did mention him?” Jason pressed.
After a moment he replied. “Yes. I don’t know anything else about him, though. It was a semi-regular thing. I don’t think Soloman had much free time. Theo only mentioned him a couple of times while I was seeing him. They maybe got together every second or third month. It was a purely professional arrangement.”
“Theo didn’t say he was worried about Soloman? That he made him uncomfortable?”
“No. He was always in a good mood after one of their sessions. I think Soloman paid well and never asked him to do any of the kinky or degrading stuff some of his other clients were into.”
It remained an avenue worth pursuing. He now had confirmation that Soloman used male escorting services. As a married, right-wing Tory, he had a lot to lose if that information was made public. His family, his career and reputation. Was that worth killing for? People had committed murder for a lot less.
Jason proceeded cautiously. “The night he died, Theo was outside the Vermont Hotel. Pretty fancy. Was he on his way to meet a client?”
“We weren’t together anymore. I don’t know.” Roaul sighed and dropped the rest of his sandwich back into his lunch box. “I assumed so. He did meet guys there. He also filmed there a couple of times.” He threw the dregs of his coffee away and screwed the cup back on the Thermos. “I have to get back to work.”
“Just one more thing, please,” Jason said. “You’ve been a massive help already. I’d like to speak to whoever filmed Theo’s clips. It’s very professional but he doesn’t credit the photographers on any of his posts.”
“I never knew him. He used to hire a guy from here in Blyham, but they fell out. After that, I think he used a photographer from Newcastle.”
“What happened with the Blyham guy?”
“I really don’t know the details. Theo said he made him uncomfortable.”
“In what way?”
Roaul screwed his face up. “It’s a struggle to remember all this.”
“Please. Anything you can tell me will help.”
“Don’t hold me to this, because I could be confused. I might even be blurring more than one person. There was a photographer who shot most of Theo’s stuff. They got on all right for a long time, but then this guy started making comments that Theo didn’t like.”
“Such as?”
“Telling him he was going too far. That he shouldn’t do so much kinky stuff. He was working with too many interracial models. He thought Theo should go back to the vanilla boy-next-door stuff he started with. Theo hated being told what to do and he detested any kind of bigotry. He tolerated criticism of himself to a degree, but when this guy started dissing the diversity of his collaborators, Theo dropped him.”
“Was there any fallout from that?”
“No. He found the guy in Newcastle and continued what he was doing. He never mentioned the other fella again.”
Jason offered his hand and Roaul shook it.
“Thank you,” Jason said. “You’ve given me some invaluable information.”
Roaul smiled sadly. “I wish it wasn’t necessary. I wish Theo was still here. Though we weren’t together anymore, we were still great friends. Can you tell his brother how sorry I am. I saw the family at the funeral but didn’t want to intrude. I…didn’t even know what to say.” He choked and turned his head away. “I had to watch from outside the cemetery.”
Jason gently stroked his arm. “We’ll do everything we can to get justice for Theo. I promise you that.”
* * * *
Marc stood on the street looking at the office of Soloman Archer. He didn’t know why he was there. What had compelled him to drive to this section of the city, just to look at a building? Soloman wasn’t even in Blyham. Marc had checked his Parliamentary account, and he was in London for a vote that evening.
Marc had been unsettled for the last two days. So much had happened. The murder of Dan Blumel, giving his statement to the police, being confronted by Nadine in the carpark afterwards. That morning, he’d gone through the motions of work at the factory, but his heart and mind weren’t in it. He had cancelled his diary appointments after lunch and got in the car for a drive to clear his head, but instead of heading for the coast, he’d found himself in the south end of Blyham.
Could Soloman Archer, a respected MP, really be responsible for the death of his brother and now Dan Blumel? It sounded so outrageous, and yet Marc couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that he watched too much TV and real life was not a conspiracy thriller, he couldn’t get past the theory.
There was nothing fancy about Soloman’s office. It was nicely fronted in a good area of the city. It didn’t scream high power and political corruption.
What the hell. You’re here, anyway, might as well go inside .
The interior reminded him of a much fancier version of Jason’s office. There was a large poster of the MP in the hallway. Marc studied the image. A bit like the premises, there was nothing wrong with the man. Fairly good-looking by most standards, a solid ten out ten compared to most other politicians. He was a blue-eyed silver fox who always looked a little uncomfortable in his fancy suits, like he couldn’t wait to remove the jacket and roll his sleeves up .
Had Theo genuinely fancied him? Despite the big age difference, it was possible. Soloman was smooth-talking and handsome enough to convince the people of his constituency to vote for him, so no reason Theo wouldn’t have fallen for him too. But was a boring, middle-aged bloke really Theo’s type? The boy who loved a good time and to show off at every opportunity. It seemed unlikely. A business transaction then? Soloman was wealthy enough to pay whatever price for the services he required.
And murder?
Marc struggled to connect the dots that far.
He took a deep breath and went up the stairs.
There were two women in the reception area. He remembered what Jason had told him about them guarding their boss like lionesses.
The elder of the women sat at the desk. She was prim and efficient looking, in a sensible grey cardigan and huge glasses. The other woman looked like a former model turned political aide. Her honey blonde hair was salon blown. She wore sharply pressed grey trousers and a silk blouse which accentuated her athletic figure. Head to toe glamour.
“Hello,” Ms Glamour-puss said. Her smile was dynamite, but her eyes were focused, taking him all in.
“Hi,” he said. “I’d like to make an appoint to see Mr Archer when he’s next available.”
“Certainly. Trish, can you bring up the diary for the next surgery?”
The older woman screwed up her face and jabbed at her keyboard.
“My name is Marc Glass.”
“Yes,” said Glamour-puss. “I recognise you. Something of a celebrity in Blyham. There was no need for you to come into the office. You could have called and made an appointment. Mr Archer will be delighted to see you.”
This was not the response he’d expected, given what Jason had told him about his efforts to get to the big man. “I was in the area,” Marc said lightly. “Thought I might as well drop by.”
“I’m delighted you did. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chantelle. I’m Mr Archer’s personal assistant.” Her jolly tone seemed completely sincere.
Trish looked up from her screen. “The next surgery is fully booked, I’m afraid.”
Chantelle tossed her hair and leaned over Trish’s shoulder. “I’m sure we can do something. How does three-thirty sound? On the twentieth.”
“Perfect.”
Chantelle tapped the screen. “Reschedule that appointment for next month and put Mr Glass in there instead.”
“Can I add a note about the purpose of the appointment?”
He watched them both closely. “I want to talk about the unsolved death of my brother. Theo Glass. He was killed by a hit-and-run driver last December.”
Chantelle’s cheerful smile turned to sympathy. “Yes, of course. That was a tragedy. Mr Soloman will be most interested in your concerns. And I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
Marc didn’t know what to say. A few days ago, Jason had been met with a hard wall of resistance when he came here. Now they were offering compassion. Something had altered and he wished he knew what it was.