Chapter Twenty-Three
A Darkening Storm
The rain was pouring by the time they reached Blake Remar’s address. It was as cold as stone on Jason’s skin when he got out of the car. Nadine rushed ahead with an umbrella to the shelter of the porch, but Jason’s ankle prevented him from hurrying. His hair was plastered to his head when he reached the entrance. He shook it off and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Nadine had already summoned the lift and held the door for him.
The apartment was on the fourth floor. There was another boom of thunder as they waited for Blake to answer.
“Think he’s legged it?” Nadine asked.
There was a click of a lock and the door partly opened. A face peered out from the guard of a security chain.
“Blake?” Jason asked.
“Let me see your ID,” the man said.
Jason produced his wallet and complied. Nadine rummaged in her bag before pulling out her press card. Blake squinted and studied them. He appeared uncertain. The door slammed shut. Jason was about to knock again when he heard the chain being undone and it swung open fully.
“Come in,” Blake said without a hint of welcome.
His was in his early to mid-thirties. Blond and good-looking with a chunky build. He stood well back, regrading them suspiciously.
“The police have already been around,” Blake grumbled.
“They have?” Jason wondered whether he had underestimated Blyham’s finest, or whether they’d been given a hefty push from the local MP.
“They treated me like shit. Worse than shit.”
“We’re not the police, and I can assure you, we’re not here to lay any blame. We just need to know what you know. You were close to several of the victims—”
“We weren’t close. They paid me to do a job. They were clients.”
“Even so, you know more about them than we do. Without even knowing it, you might hold the key to the entire mystery.”
It was obvious from his face that Blake was not convinced.
“We’re not looking to stitch you up,” Jason said, with his hands out, palms up. “I took this case to help Marc Glass find out what happened to his brother Theo. Since then, two more men have been killed, and someone is also after Marc and me. We need your help, Blake. Honestly.”
His gaze wavered between Jason and Nadine, until he sighed and nodded. “Come on through.”
The apartment was large, with good-sized windows. The view might have been impressive, if it wasn’t for the gloom of the storm. There were framed, poster- sized photographs on the walls. Most of them were black and white landscapes, though there were a handful of portraits. Jason recognised a picture of Theo straight away. It was a monochrome image that made him look like a matinee idol from the 1950s or ’60s. Very handsome, with expressive eyes and a strong jawline. Far more classical than the usual sex images. For the first time, Jason could see the family resemblance between Marc and Theo.
“Excellent work,” Jason said, making no effort to pretend he hadn’t noticed the shot.
“He posed for that as a favour to me,” Blake said, gazing at the image. “Theo wasn’t interested in traditional photography or even glamour. All he wanted was content for his sites, but he agreed to this shoot eventually. I don’t think he ever looked more beautiful. I wish he’d have allowed me to take more like his. He could have been a regular model, instead of just the sex work.”
A gust of wind sent a burst of rain against the windows. Blake wandered across the room and stared out, avoiding their gaze.
“It doesn’t sound like you were keen on the sexual side of things,” Jason said.
“It’s work. It came at a time when I needed the extra income. I couldn’t afford to turn it down. I did it as a paid favour really. Put it this way, I never advertised shooting porn as a service on my website.”
“Did you film a lot of men?” Nadine asked. While Blake’s back was turned, she had turned her phone on to recording mode. Jason shot her a discouraging look. Nadine pulled a face and ignored him.
“Not if I could help it. I got on well with Theo, but most of those guys were more trouble than they were worth. They didn’t always pay what they were supposed to, either.” Blake turned around and dropped onto the sofa. “I don’t do anything like that now. I don’t have to.”
“I’ve heard from a couple of people that you were fond of Theo,” Jason said.
Blake stiffened. “Who said that?”
“It’s not a criticism,” he said calmly. “Just an observation. I thought if you were close, he might have confided in you.”
“No. Theo did exactly what he wanted. He didn’t come to me for advice.”
“Did he ever mention having trouble with any of his collaborators?”
“No, he didn’t, but I have eyes. I don’t know what you think it’s like to film one of these videos. It’s my job to shoot the boys and edit it all in a way that makes them look sexy, like they’re enjoying themselves and are into each other. That’s not always the case. They come with egos and bad attitudes. Substance misuse. Mental health problems. Some of them make so many of these videos they’re on the clock. Rushing to get it all done in forty minutes because they have another booking.”
“So, are you saying there was friction between Theo and another model?” Jason asked.
“No,” Blake snapped. “That’s not what I’m saying. There’s always tension, that’s all. Just because they fuck, it doesn’t mean they have to like each other.”
“As fascinating as that is, it’s not really telling us much,” Nadine said. Jason winced. He didn’t want her to piss him off and cause him to shut up completely. “Did any of these guys get violent or threatening?”
Blake’s eyes hardened. Fuck, she’s blown it . Then he softened again. “Not really. There was an argument between Tyrone and Theo over money, but it didn’t amount to anything. And given what’s happened, Tyrone is not going to be your killer, is he?”
“What can you tell us about Theo’s escorting work?” Nadine asked. “Did he ever talk about that?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you who he was meeting?”
“No. I wasn’t interested. I took the pictures. I had nothing to do with his private work.”
Jason realised he had no option but to pressure him. Time was tight and Blake wasn’t telling them much that they didn’t already know. “You didn’t approve of some of the models Theo worked with.”
“He could have done much better. He was degrading himself with some of those men. You only had to take one look at them to know they were trash. Theo could have done anything with his life. Look at how much his brother has achieved. Theo could have done that too, instead of taking it in the arse from guys who didn’t deserve him.” There was a crack of emotion in Blake’s voice. “He didn’t need to do any of that.”
Jason couldn’t work him out. He was kind of sad and exuded bitterness. From what he’d learnt of Theo, he would never have been interested in a man like this. Blake wouldn’t have stood a chance. Could his jealously have driven him to kill the thing he loved, along with two other men? No way .
“These boys,” Blake continued. “These content creators, they think they know everything. They think their dicks are so fucking huge they’re the secret to their fortune. But none of them last. They burn themselves out. Everything they do has to be recorded and captured to keep up with the never-ending demand for fresh content. They can’t even have a wank in peace because they need to film it. Theo put on a show of having a good time, he claimed he was owning it, but would have gone that way in the end, and I couldn’t bear to watch that.”
“I’ve talked with Roaul, Theo’s ex. He said Theo enjoyed what he did. Tyrone confirmed it too.”
“It was an act. When you work with these boys on a regular basis, you get to see the sadness in their soul. They develop a haunted appearance.”
“I thought you said you didn’t do a lot of this kind of work,” Nadine said.
Blake gave a dismissive wave. “It doesn’t take a lot. The erosion happens fast. Do you really think Theo was the first of the local models to die?”
Jason stiffened. Nadine crossed the room and stood over Blake. “What?”
“You heard me. Theo wasn’t the first of the models to die because of this.”
* * * *
Marc was glad Jason had insisted he wait for Ryman to pick up him before heading to Soloman’s office. The older investigator had a clear-cut confidence about him that put Marc at ease. He was huge, from his head to his toes. Given Marc’s broken arm, Ryman was a strong, physical presence. Marc had been pacing the floor, getting increasingly anxious about the call from Soloman when Ryman had dropped by for him.
He drove with the same kind of assurance, boldly overtaking and executing some serious manoeuvres in the worsening conditions. Ryman would get them to Soloman’s office in the fastest time possible.
“You know he’s done nothing for this city except serve himself,” Ryman said, holding the wheel steady. “They’re redeveloping that section down river to put in a new port. You know who the main beneficiaries of the contracts are? Soloman’s brother-in-law and his best mate from uni. The man is as bent as a corkscrew.”
“You’re not a fan, then?”
Ryman’s lips curled back from his teeth. “Can’t say I’m a fan of any politicians, but when it came to Soloman Archer, the residents of Blyham couldn’t have nominated a bigger piece of shit.”
Marc did not disagree. At the height of the Blyham Strangler hysteria, Soloman hadn’t made a single statement about what was happening in the city. It was peculiar that they had to rely on him now to shed some kind of light on the current spate of killings. If he could help them at all.
Marc had to remember that Soloman’s sudden return and the offer to speak to Marc might be nothing more than damage limitation for the sake of his career.
Ryman found a place to park along the street from the office.
The rain was belting down when Marc got out of the car. It washed over the tops of the pavements. He shoved his plastered arm inside his coat and hurried towards the front door. It was closed when he reached it but unlocked.
Ryman followed him in.
The hall was gloomy. The lights had been switched off. The office must have already been closed for the day.
Marc headed up the stairs first. Though he already suspected this would be waste of time, he was keen to see his brother’s some-time lover in the flesh. To figure out if there had been anything deeper between them than money and sexual transactions.
The reception desk was empty when they reached the top, and all of the lights were turned off.
Something was not right .
Ryman came around to stand in front of him. “Be prepared for anything,” he muttered, looking around.
Light came through one of the doors that led off from the main room.
“Hello,” Marc called out. “Anybody there?”
Silence, apart from the rain battering the roof and windows.
“I don’t like this,” Ryman said.
“No, neither do I.” Marc’s sense of unease reached the same level as it had when he’d found Tyrone by the river. Something was off. “Let’s go back to the car. I’ll call him from there.”
A door to their right opened. For a few seconds, a figure was backlit in the frame before they reached out and flicked on a switch. The office blinked into light.
“Sorry, we didn’t hear you arrive. You’re a little early.”
It was Soloman’s PA, Chantelle. Her mood was so much warmer than the last time Marc had seen her. Typical. He’d met her type many times before in his own business. The kind who treated everyone with contempt until the boss was around when suddenly she was overflowing with charm. She wore a tailored black trouser suit with a silk blouse. Her hair was fixed in a smart upwards style.
“It’s lovely to see you again.” Her voice was full of charm, but her eyes were bereft as she shifted her focus from Marc to Ryman. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Mr Archer isn’t expecting a second guest.”
“Ryman Blair.”
Marc raised his broken arm. “Ryman is helping me to get around. And he knows all there is to know about our case. I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”
She was fighting the urge to come back with a rejection. Her smile stayed fixed and unmoving for what seemed like an age, then she said. “No issue at all. Trish has already left for the day. If you’d like to go through, Mr Archer is in his office. I’ll bring some refreshments. Tea? Coffee? Something more grown up?”
“We’re fine,” Ryman said. His voice was curt, cutting through Chantelle’s phony PR charm. “We appreciate how precious Mr Archer’s time is. Can we get to it?”
She gave a closed-mouth smile. Marc could almost hear her silently counting to ten to retain her temper. “Go right on in. Mr Archer has been dying to meet you.”
* * * *
Blake picked up an iPad. His fingers swiped and tapped at the screen. Jason and Nadine moved close enough to look over his shoulder. He pulled up a picture of a man in his early twenties. He had the same kind of fresh-faced, handsome features as Theo had had.
“His name was Stefan,” Blake said. “I first met him on a legitimate modelling job, before he got into any of the sex stuff. He wanted me to take pictures for his portfolio.”
Jason recognised the background in the next photo. It was taken from the river with Blyham Castle in the background. Stefan had his shirt open, revealing a toned and tattooed torso.
“But he didn’t really have what it takes,” Blake said.
“He’s a nice-looking lad,” Nadine commented.
“Nice looks aren’t enough for a successful modelling career. He didn’t have the star quality that agents and bookers look for. He was about twenty here. I spent an afternoon with him, shooting all kinds of images, and that was about it, until I met him again a couple of years after when he was doing the Hot-4-Fans thing.”
The hairs on Jason’s neck prickled. “Did he work with Theo or any of the other guys?”
“Theo? Definitely,” Blake said, “I filmed one of their sessions. I don’t know about Dan and Tyrone. Theo was the one who brought him in to see me. He was using a different name them, but I knew who he was straight away.” He flicked to another image. “Stefan acted like we’d never met before, so I didn’t make an issue of it. I figured he was embarrassed enough, and I didn’t want to make things any worse.”
“When did he die?” Nadine asked, impatiently.
“Last year sometime. Early, I would say. Like, spring. Maybe around Easter.”
“And how did he die? Was it suspicious?”
Blake tapped the screen and pulled up Facebook. After a few more clicks he found Stefan’s profile. “There you go,” he said, showing them the tribute posts. “It was April. Suspicious, no. Stefan had major problems with substance abuse. When he came to see me with Theo he was a shadow of what he used to be. He died of an overdose. Deliberate, by all accounts.”
Blake handed them the iPad so they could scroll through his account themselves. Jason clicked straight to the photo gallery.
“Was there a chance the overdose could have been murder and made to look that way?” Nadine asked.
“I’m not a detective. That’s for you to find out,” Blake said. “But I doubt it. The kid was in a dark place towards the end.”
In most of the pictures, Stefan was a happy, good-looking boy. It was the usual assortment of social media images. Holiday snaps, birthdays, special occasions. No different from anyone else his age. The most recent photo taken prior to his death showed a big family dinner. Jason guessed it was an Easter get-together. He was about to scroll to the next, when he halted. There was something about this group shot.
He clicked and enlarged the image, zooming in on the family members around Stefan.
“Shit!”
Right beside Stefan in that last photograph, smiling and raising a glass of wine, was a face he recognised.
“We need to stop Marc. Right now .”
* * * *
When Marc and Ryman entered Soloman Archer’s office, the MP sat in a high-backed chair, facing away from them. Only the top of his head was visible. Marc figured he was on a call. They approached the desk and waited, expecting Soloman to turn around and indicate whether he wanted them to sit or wait outside.
It seemed strange, after thirty seconds, that he did not speak or move.
That all too familiar sense of foreboding crept over Marc.
He looked at Ryman and realised he was having similar doubts.
Marc cleared his throat and said, “Soloman.”
When there was no reply, he feared the worst.
He moved around the desk for a closer look.
The MP was held in position on the chair by cable ties around both wrists. His mouth hung open, his eyes were wide and unfocused. His shirt, from the neck down, was a wet, bloody mess. Marc gazed at the face of death for the third time since this investigation had begun .
“He’s dead,” he said.
As he raised his eyes to look at Ryman, he caught sudden movement in the room behind him. His mouth opened but had only half formed the warning when Chantelle swung a knife through the air and stuck it in Ryman’s back.