by P R Ellis
‘So your husband didn’t get on with Christopher?’
‘William is…was a good father.’
‘But…’
‘No, William found Christopher difficult. They had rows. William said Christopher was gay.’
‘Was he?’
‘I don’t know. I never thought so. Christopher never had any close friendships with boys but he was friends with lots of girls – not serious girlfriends, just girls he chatted with.’
‘There was nothing else in Christopher’s behaviour that you think caused him to move away as soon as he could?’
‘No. We thought it was because he’d had enough of the rows with William. William was very upset when he realised he was probably the cause of Christopher going and tried everything he could to get him to come back.’
‘Including employing a private eye?’ Tom had been listening closely to the exchange. ‘What information did you give him?’
‘Well, there wasn’t much. We showed him the postcards that Christopher sent and he had a look in Christopher’s room, but as I said, he didn’t get anywhere.’
‘Is Christopher’s room still as the private eye saw it?’ Jasmine was hopeful that the answer was yes.
‘Yes. It hasn’t changed since Christopher left. I thought he would come back and would want his things. As time went on, I couldn’t bear to go in there and change anything.’
‘May I see it?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Yes, if you like. It’s up the stairs and on the right, but I don’t see how it can help you find out how why Christopher has been murdered.’
‘You never know,’ Jasmine said, getting to her feet. She left the room and climbed the stairs to the landing. There were four doors, but only one was on her right and it was closed. Jasmine turned the handle but had to give it a push to unstick the door in its jamb. It was as if the paint had sealed it after years of disuse. The room was dark because the curtains were closed. Jasmine pulled them open dislodging a thin veil of dust. She looked around. It was clearly a teenager’s bedroom – single bed, desk, wardrobe, chest of drawers, a couple of bookshelves with books and ornaments - but surprisingly lacking any individual touches of a boy, or a girl. There were no model cars or aeroplanes on display and the walls were bare of posters of rock bands or computer games. Neither were there photos or mirrors. Jasmine was surprised at how sterile the room was. It told her nothing of the personality of its occupant. Perhaps Christopher hadn’t wanted to reveal much about himself. She looked at the book titles. Most were classics - Austen, the Brontes, Alcott - but some were modern. Jasmine recognised some chicklit authors: Sophie Kinsella, Cecelia Ahern. She smiled to herself. Would a male private eye have seen the significance of those titles and authors? She thought not.
Jasmine slid the doors of the wardrobe open. There were jackets, trousers and shirts that looked like school wear, a few pairs of skinny jeans, but nothing else. She pulled open the drawers of the chest. One was filled with boxer shorts and socks, another had a pile of T-shirts and jumpers. There wasn’t much space for anything else.
She got down onto her knees and peered under the bed. The space was empty except for a magazine. Jasmine pulled it out and read the title – “Seventeen” - dated over six years ago. She smiled again and tucked it under her arm.
Closing the door behind her, Jasmine retraced her steps down the stairs to the lounge.
‘You weren’t long,’ Mrs Newman commented, ‘Did you find anything?’
‘Did Christopher take any of his clothes with him?’
‘No. That’s why we thought he wouldn’t be gone long. The only thing missing was his laptop as far as I could tell.’
‘Judging by the clothes in his wardrobe, Christopher seemed to wear jeans and T-shirts when he wasn’t at school.’ Jasmine said.
‘Yes, he had no interest in clothes at all. I had a real struggle getting him to choose trousers and shoes. He never wanted to go shopping with me.’
Jasmine held out the magazine.
‘I found this under the bed. It’s a magazine for teenage girls.’
‘I know. I thought one of his female friends must have left it behind. They did come over and see him now and again.’
‘Did you speak to these girls when he disappeared?’
‘Yes, we knew a couple of them that lived nearby. They couldn’t tell us where he’d gone or why.’ Mrs Newman stared at Jasmine. ‘You know something, don’t you? You and your partner,’ she waved a hand vaguely in Tom’s direction. ‘You haven’t just come to tell me that Christopher is dead.’
‘That’s right,’ Jasmine said, while Tom started to open his mouth, ‘but we wanted to know how much you knew before we said something that would shock you.’
‘What could shock me more than telling me that my son has been murdered?’
‘You’re right, Mrs Newman,’ Tom said, ‘but the circumstances in which Christopher was living when he was killed may come as a shock to you. That is what I think Jasmine is trying to say.’
‘Tell me! I want to know everything about Christopher! I need to know why he was murdered!’
‘I’m afraid we can’t answer that last question yet, Mrs Newman, but we can tell you some facts about Christopher.’ Tom looked at Jasmine with an appeal in his eyes.
‘You said you didn’t think Christopher was gay,’ Jasmine began, ‘but do you understand the term “transgender”?’
‘Transgender? I’m not sure. Do you mean men dressing up in women’s clothes?’
‘Sort of. I believe Christopher was transgender and at the time of his death he was living as a woman.’
Mrs Newman’s eyes widened. ‘You mean - he’d had a sex change?’
‘Well, no, not exactly,’ Jasmine was searching for the correct words to use, ‘but she’d had some cosmetic surgery to make her look more feminine.’
‘That’s why Christopher didn’t look like he did at sixteen,’ Tom added.
‘Cosmetic surgery? Do you get that on the NHS?’
‘Sometimes,’ Jasmine replied.
‘But not in Christopher’s case is what you’re saying. Tell me everything you know. How did he pay for this surgery?’
‘We think Christopher performed sexual services for money,’ Tom said in his most official voice.
Now Mrs Newman was visibly shocked. She sobbed and covered her face. Jasmine wondered whether it was shame she felt more than the loss of her son.
‘When? How?’ she asked almost incoherently.
‘I think Christopher was transgender from a young age,’ Jasmine explained. ‘For a long time he must have been confused about his feelings but didn’t feel he could talk about them with you or your husband. That’s not uncommon. Many trans people have difficulty in expressing their problems to their families and friends. But his friendships with girls, lack of interest in male clothes, the books he read, suggest that Christopher discovered his differences a long time ago but he kept them secret.’
Mrs Newman parted her hands and peered at Jasmine, examining her closely for the first time.
‘You seem to know a lot about it, Miss Frame. Are you really a woman?’
‘Oh yes, I’m a woman,’ Jasmine declared, ‘although physically I’m not there yet.’
‘You’re one of those trans people you were talking about! How can I know that you’re telling the truth about Christopher?’
‘I can show you,’ Jasmine said pulling her phone from her bag and swiping to the photo of Xristal and Honey. She passed the phone to Mrs Newman. ‘Do you recognise Christopher?’
She stared at the picture silently and then tears started to trickle down her cheeks.
‘Oh Chris, what have you done to yourself?’ She looked up at Jasmine. ‘Who is the other person in the picture? Is he a man too?’
‘Her name is Honey Potts. She and Xristal…’
‘Xristal?’
‘That’s the name Christopher used. She and Honey were friends, but we don’t know anything about her or
where she is?’
‘Do you recognise her?’ Tom asked.
Mrs Newman shook her head. ‘She doesn’t look familiar, but if she has changed her appearance too… But Christopher had no male friends or friends who were trans-whatever. Did this Potts person kill Christopher?’
‘We don’t know,’ Tom answered, ‘but we need to find her to discover what she knows about Christopher.’
Mrs Newman continued examining the photo closely. ‘What changes did Christopher have done? I can see his hair is still black although he’s had it styled.’
‘She had her nose altered, her lips puffed up, ears pierced, and she had had some of her beard removed.’
‘And these. These breasts he’s showing in this bikini - are they real?’
Jasmine nodded. ‘Xristal had breast enhancement.’
‘This is what he wanted? To look like a whore?’ Her voice suggested anger more than sadness or disbelief.
‘I’m not sure what she wanted, Julia,’ Jasmine said as softly as she could, ‘We believe she was planning to have the full gender reassignment surgery soon to make her physically a woman.’
Mrs Newman shook her head. ‘He paid for all this by selling himself?’
‘We think so,’ Tom said, ‘but we are still collecting evidence.’
The doorbell rang.
‘I hope that’s the FLO,’ Tom added as he hurried from the room.
Julia Newman looked at Jasmine with a mixture of emotions flitting across her face. ‘I can’t begin to understand what Christopher was feeling but I see now that it could explain his behaviour and why he left. How was he able to go so suddenly and become this “woman”?’
‘I don’t think it was sudden,’ Jasmine said. ‘You said that for some time before he went missing he would go off for evenings, days even.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I think Chris was meeting up with friends who understood her.’
‘Other trans people?’
‘Probably. Perhaps Honey Potts befriended her and helped her. She must have kept female clothes and cosmetics somewhere else. I think she had prepared to leave as soon as she was able to.’
‘Do you think he was selling his body before he left?’
‘I don’t know, but we have to trace the people who knew her so we can discover what led to her death.’
‘Will I be able to see him?’
‘I’m sure DS Shepherd would like you to, so we can confirm the identification.’
The door opened and Tom returned followed by a female police officer in uniform. She looked from Jasmine to Mrs Newman.
‘This is Constable Hargreaves,’ Tom said.
‘Call me Milly,’ the officer said, holding out her hand to Mrs Newman. Jasmine thought she seemed a confident, competent, young woman eager to do her job.
‘She’ll stay with you until your husband returns. Longer if you like.’ Tom said. ‘I’ve told her what we know and what we’ve discussed. If you can tell her anything else that you think will be useful she’ll pass it on to us. Otherwise she is here to look after you and answer your questions as far as it is possible to do so.’
‘I won’t get in your way,’ Milly said, ‘but I know you’ve had a big shock so I’ll try to help you as much as I can.’
Mrs Newman looked at each of the three of them in turn, then began sobbing. Jasmine felt guilty that she had contributed to Julia’s confusion and distress, but she didn’t feel she could offer much more comfort. That was Milly’s job.
‘I’m sorry we had to bring bad news about Christopher,’ she said. ‘If I can tell you any more about what being trans might have meant to her, please give me a call.’ She handed over a business card she had taken from her handbag.
‘I’ve not only lost my son, I feel that our whole life as a family was a lie,’ Mrs Newman said between sobs.
‘I know it’s extremely difficult for you,’ Jasmine said, ‘but I think Xristal still loved you or she would not have sent the postcards. They were to reassure you that she was well.’
‘But he wasn’t well! He was a mixed up trans thing, giving away his body and now he’s dead!’ Mrs Newman wailed in distress.
‘I think we’d better leave now, Jas,’ Tom said quietly. ‘We’ve caused enough distress. Let Milly calm the poor woman down.’ He faced Julia Newman. ‘We’ll leave you with Constable Hargreaves, Mrs Newman. Thank you for answering our questions. I expect we will need to speak to your husband and we will arrange for you to come over to Kintbridge to see Christopher’s body.’
Mrs Newman wailed again and curled up in a ball on the sofa. Tom tugged Jasmine towards the door.
‘Take good care of her, Constable. We’ll keep in touch.’
Milly Hargreaves nodded and sat next to Mrs Newman with her arm around her. She nodded but said nothing.
Tom led Jasmine from the house and back to the police car. They got in and buckled up their seat belts. Tom started the engine and pulled away. They reached the end of the quiet suburban street before he spoke.
‘Well, aside from causing a great deal of distress to that poor woman we didn’t get much out of that, did we?’
‘Oh, I think we did.’ Jasmine said.
Tom glanced at her, ‘Really?’
‘Okay, we’re no nearer to finding Honey Potts or whoever else Xristal was involved with, but I think we’ve learned a lot about Xristal herself.’
‘Like what?’
‘She was troubled about her gender for a long time and had made a life for herself away from home long before she moved out. She obviously felt that there was no hope of getting her parents to understand how she felt, so she found people who did.’
‘Honey Potts?’
‘Possibly, but I think people like Potts used her rather than understood her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘From what I’ve seen and heard about Xristal’s teenage years, she strikes me as a typical transsexual struggling to find an identity for herself. She doesn’t seem like an in-your-face, extrovert, OTT, she-male to me.’
‘No? Do you know many she-males?’
‘No, I don’t. I’m going by gut instinct. Xristal feels more like me, but somewhere along the line she got taken in by Honey Potts, or others like her, and persuaded to play a part like them and earn the money for a designer body in the way that they did.’
‘Sounds feasible.’
‘But she wasn’t such an outgoing character. Perhaps that was why she got in to the BDSM. It required a different mind-set.’
‘Can’t say I know much about it. Anyway, where does it get us?’
‘Not far, I know. We still have to find Honey and other people she knew on that scene, and her clients of course.’
‘So we’re still where we were before we met Mrs Newman?’
‘In practice, yes, but I’ve now got a much better picture of Xristal and more sympathy for her.’
‘You don’t need sympathy in this job. It can get you into trouble. You know that, Jas.’
‘If I was still a police officer, I’d agree with you. When I thought Xristal was a she-male, I didn’t have much incentive for finding out who murdered her. Now I know more about her I really want to get her killer - and find those who persuaded her into becoming something she wasn’t, as that ultimately led to her death.’
‘That sounds more like a campaign than an investigation. What are you going to do?’
‘It looks like a trawl through the internet-porn sites to find people who may have known Xristal. But first I’ve got to write a report that puts Parfitt firmly in the shit.’
5
FRIDAY EVENING
Jasmine hit “send” and leaned back in her chair. The report, together with the last shots from the memory card, began their journey through cyberspace. That would end Parfitt’s money-spinning play-acting and complete her current contract with the FIS. It was a relief that one job was out of the way and that she could now devote herself fully to discovering why Xr
istal had been killed.
The washing machine rumbled to a stop, so she went to the kitchen to empty it. As she sorted the damp knickers, bras, tops and skirts, she wondered whether Xristal had relished this chore as much as she did. For Jasmine, each item of clothing hung on the dryer in the bathroom was a symbol of her femininity. How had Xristal seen herself – a man with tits or a woman with a penis? She presented herself as a woman, her wardrobe showed that, but did she think of herself as female? Perhaps her gender identity was still evolving, hence the ticket to Thailand and the appointment at the sex-change clinic. Was there any connection between her planned trip and the motive for her murder? Jasmine reasoned that the only way to find out was to search for Xristal’s presence on the web, her main means of contacting her clients.
As she returned to the living room her phone rang. She grabbed it. Perhaps Tom had some more news.
‘Hi, Jas.’ It was Angela. ‘Just checking you are still on for this evening?’
Making sure she hadn’t forgotten more like – which she had.
‘Oh, hi, Angela. Yes, of course. Eight o’clock was it?’ She glanced at her watch. It was already nearly seven.
‘That’s right. See you there. Bye.’
Just like Angela to check up on her before she actually was late, but just as well. The evening get-together with Angela and her new man had completely slipped Jasmine’s mind. Now she hardly had any time to get ready - and a special effort was necessary to pass Angela’s close scrutiny. She chucked the phone onto the sofa and ran into her bedroom, pulling off her T-shirt as she went. Having stripped, she hurried to the bathroom, showered quickly and gave her arms and legs a cursory swipe with her razor. A little more time and concentration was needed to give her face and neck a smooth appearance, and she sighed as she did every day with the forlorn desire to eliminate her facial hair. Shaving only made the hairs coarse and roughened her skin. She must have tried every moisturiser on the market, except for the ridiculously expensive ones, in the hope of finding one that really did the trick.
She gathered her towel around her and returned to the bedroom, trying to dry herself as quickly as possible. At last, satisfied with her dryness, she dropped the towel to the floor and examined herself in the long mirror. She averted her gaze from the dangling bits between her legs. The swelling of her breasts disappointed her, but she was relieved that her muscles weren’t turning to fat. Her waist and hips showed a little more of a curve than prior to starting the hormone therapy, but she still had, and would always have, a boyish figure. She tucked herself into a clean pair of white knickers and slipped her breast enhancers into her bra.
