‘Dave?’ Sean looked at Donnelly, who shifted in his seat.
‘Aye, guv’nor. We’ve been working through the victim’s address book and have got hold of most of his closer friends. The ones who appear frequently in his diary. We’ll track down the remaining friends and associates soon enough.
‘So far, they all say the same thing − victim was a nice kid. He was indeed a homosexual. One of his buddies, a guy called Robin Peak, had a relationship with him in the past. He was pretty sure Daniel was working as a male prostitute. Not hanging around public toilets in King’s Cross, though. Apparently he was relatively high-end, hence the decent stuff in his flat, but this Robin guy said Daniel would hardly ever take clients back there. Only a select few who could afford to pay the extra hundred pound or so he charged for the privilege. He would usually go to their places or a decent hotel, or sometimes he would take care of a punter in nearby toilets, though it cost extra if you wanted him to slum it.
‘His flat was very much a secret hideaway. Only a handful of people knew where he lived, and we’ve spoken to most of them. None of them come across as the knife-wielding maniac type. We have all their details anyway.
‘According to Mr Peak, the victim liked the club scene. The gay club scene. It’s also how he met most of his clients. He’s well known at a number of gay nightspots. We’ll begin checking them out as soon as.’ Donnelly looked around the room.
‘How many?’ Sean asked.
‘About five or six.’
‘Have any of his friends been able to tell us where the victim was on Wednesday night, Thursday morning?’
‘No. But the consensus is that he would probably have been at a club called Utopia, down in Vauxhall. Under the railway arches. His usual Wednesday hang-out.’
‘Good,’ Sean said, before passing out instructions in his usual quick-fire way. ‘Andy – you keep on the lab’s back. I want my results as soon as possible. Sooner.’ DS Roddis nodded.
‘Dave – take who you want and get to work tracking down witnesses who were at Utopia on Wednesday. Start with the employees.’ Donnelly scribbled notes on a pad.
‘Sally – take whoever’s left and begin checking intelligence records for people who have assaulted homosexuals in the past. Not any old bollocks, I mean serious assaults, including sexual assaults. Start with the Met and if that’s no good check our neighbouring forces, and then go national if you have to.’ Sally’s head nodded in agreement as she too scribbled notes. ‘Check the names lifted from the victim’s address book first – you never know your luck.’
Sean threw it open, causing the increasing murmurs to temporarily fade. ‘Can anyone think of anything? Have we missed anything? Anything obvious? Anything not so obvious? Speak now, people.’ No one spoke. ‘In that case the next get-together we have will be on Monday, same time. I need some results by then. The powers that be will want easy answers to this, so let’s find them and finish this one before it turns into a saga.’
The meeting broke up as noisily as a class of schoolchildren being dismissed for the weekend. Sean walked to his office alone, closing the door behind him. He picked up a large envelope waiting on his desk and without thinking emptied out the contents. Copies of photographs of the victim spilled out in front of him. He stared at them, not touching them. He spun his stool around and looked out of the window – the sun still brilliant in the sky. The photographs had caught him off guard. If he had known they were in the envelope he would have taken time to prepare himself before spilling hell across his desk.
Now he wanted to retreat from his world. He wanted to phone his wife, to be in touch with a softer reality for a minute or two − he wanted to hear her reassuring doctor’s voice. He wanted her to tell him unimportant things about their daughters Mandy and Louise. Kate would be getting them ready for a trip to the park. He needed a snapshot of his other, better life, but he delayed a few seconds, long enough for ugly thoughts to rush his mind. He closed his eyes as the image of his father’s fist slammed into his face, the face of his childhood – hot, stinging breath growing ever closer. He pressed his knuckles into his temples and pushed the past away. Once his mind cleared, he reached for the phone on his desk and dialled the number he knew so well, praying it would be answered by a voice that existed in the here and now and not just a mechanical-sounding recording of the person he needed to hear alive. Moments later the phone was answered by a friendly but businesslike voice – the voice of his wife.
‘Hello,’ she said, the pitch of her voice rising on the ‘o’.
‘It’s me.’
‘I guessed it probably would be – the number was withheld.’
‘Aren’t the hospital numbers withheld?’
‘Some are. For a second I was afraid I was about to get called into work for some emergency or another. Anyway – how you doing?’ Sean answered with a sigh she’d heard many times before. ‘That good, eh? Is it a bad one?’
‘Is there such a thing as a good one?’
‘No. I suppose not.’
‘Anyway – what you doing?’
‘In the park with the kids. Too nice a day to be stuck inside. What about you?’
‘In my office looking at … looking at some reports,’ he lied as his eyes fell on the crime-scene photographs. He knew Kate could handle it, better maybe than he could, but such things had no place in the park with his wife and children on a sunny day.
‘Sorry,’ she sympathized, trying to read his voice for signs. ‘Sean?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You sure?’
He sighed again before continuing. ‘Just … the block the crime scene was in reminded me of … you know.’
‘Sean,’ she counselled, ‘a lot of things remind you of your childhood – that can’t be helped. Your past will always be part of you – nothing can change that.’
‘I know,’ he assured her. ‘But the memories, the images are so much more real, vivid when I’m in or close to a crime scene. Most of the time I can almost forget my childhood, but not when I’m in a place like that – not when I’m in a scene like that.’
‘I understand, but we’ve talked about this – many times. It becomes more vivid because you use your imagination as a tool, and when you open the door to your imagination you’re going to allow some demons out, Sean. It can’t be helped, but it can be controlled – you’ve already shown that.’
‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Why don’t you come home a little early – have some normal time for a couple of hours – drink too much and fool around?’
‘No chance of that,’ he told her. ‘Not for a few days yet, anyway.’
‘Any idea how long this one’s going to take?’
‘How long’s a piece of string?’
‘That’s not good.’
‘Is it ever?’
‘Yes,’ Kate told him. ‘When you’re at home, with us – that’s good.’
‘When I am there.’
‘Well then be here. Remember all work and no play makes Sean a—’
‘Makes me a what?’ he interrupted, thinly veiled anger suddenly in his voice.
‘Nothing,’ she answered. ‘I was just … nothing. I have to go now – the kids have run off. I’ll see you tonight. Be careful. I love you.’ The