by Thom Collins
“The dole had sanctioned his benefits. He had no money. What was he supposed to do? He was desperate.”
On the day of the robbery Luke Mosley had been desperate all right. For a fix. The seventeen year old had huge drug debts—heroine, amphetamine, cannabis—most of which were owed to his own father and his associates. Lugz was one of the biggest dealers in the area. The beatings he had dealt his son in the past for failing to pay up made Akram Khan’s assault look like slap and tickle.
“It’s over, Brian. Case dismissed.” The dealer took a menacing step toward Matt.
“Over? Nothing is over. Not for you or that Paki scum you represent.”
Matt had heard threats like this before. They were nothing new, just part of the job. But with a hulk like Lugz in your face, threatening to do some damage, you had to take it seriously.
He took a step back toward the door. It was time to involve security. And prevent Akram Khan, and his wife Feeza, from coming out the same way.
“Don’t walk away from me, you cunt.” Lugz suddenly lunged at him.
Matt had speed and agility on his side. He was through the door and into the court foyer before Lugz reached the top step. Two uniformed security guards stood beside the body scanners. Beyond them, the waiting room was full of defendants, their relatives and lawyers, waiting for their cases to be called. All heads turned toward the commotion.
The guards were quick to recognize Matt and realize what was happening. One was already on his radio, calling for back up, while the other let him straight through the gate, before closing it again.
“Get outta my way, you fuckers,” Lugz Moseley roared.
Matt turned in time to see him strike one of the guards straight in the face. The second guard tried to tackle him but Lugz brushed him aside like a five year old. Across the waiting room, Matt spotted Mr. and Mrs. Khan and waved frantically at them to stay back. The sight of them would only infuriate the drug dealer and send the situation further out of control.
Black-uniformed reinforcements came pouring out from the courtrooms. Lugz was big but he was no match for their numbers. He shouted and swore but soon he was down and cuffed.
Matt jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder. It was Danny Frost.
“Are you okay?” The lawyer’s eyes were full of concern.
Matt slumped, suddenly relieved and grateful to see a friendly face. “Shit, Danny. Yes, it was hairy for a moment there.”
Danny put a hand on the small of his back and led him toward a bench. “You’re ghostly white. C’mon, sit down. You’ve had a shock.”
Lugz Mosley was marched out of the foyer, toward the holding cells.
“Get off me, you twats. I know where you all live. I’ll find you. Fuck your wife. Fuck your kids. I’ll break your kneecaps. You cunts.”
The doors closed behind him, though they could still hear his poisonous rants, slowly growing distant.
Danny brought him a coffee from the vending machine. “I know you don’t take sugar but I got you one loaded with it. Drink it, you need it for the shock.” He sat beside him. “Feeling okay? God, Matt, that was a lucky escape.”
Matt nodded, sipping the hot, sweet drink. If Lugz had had the brains to tackle him away from the courthouse, the outcome would have been very different. His car was in the garage today, being fitted for new tires and he had come to court on foot. Lugz could have attacked him at any point on the route and there’d have been no security to help him.
“Could he have been the one to trash your car?” Danny asked when Matt told him about the slashed tires.
“Maybe, I don’t know. Why would he bother? The damage was done last night, but at that stage none of us knew the judge was going to throw out the case. The Mosleys thought they were in for a nice compensation payout.”
“Someone has it in for you. You really know how to make friends and influence people.”
Matt laughed. It sounded flat. “It’s not funny. But if I didn’t laugh…”
“You would go crazy.”
“Already there. Thanks, Danny.”
Matt’s hope of an early exit were dashed. One of the security guards came over to tell him the police were on their way. They wanted him to wait until they arrived and make a statement. He called the office to let them know what was happening and that he wouldn’t be back for a while. By the time he finished the coffee Danny had bought, he felt a lot better, despite the sugar coating it left in his mouth. He went to the vending machine to get another, minus the sugar this time.
There was a discarded newspaper on one of the waiting room tables. A photograph caught his eye. It was Dale—on the front page. One of his smiling, staged publicity photos. The production on Dale’s show seemed like a never-ending saga. What was it now? He picked up and unfolded the paper.
Kissing Co-Stars exclaimed a bold headline. Beneath there was a new photograph. Dale and Roxanne were locked at the lips. It was a blurred paparazzi-style picture rather than a staged publicity shot. Roxanne had a diamond-decked hand on the back of Dale’s head, pulling him into the kiss.
He scanned the article. The photograph had been taken last night, at the production party Dale attended before coming to his place. ‘The party was boring,’ Dale had told him. It didn’t look that way.
Sexy co-stars Roxanne Maxwell and Dale Zachary can’t keep their hands off each other, the article boasted. Maneater Roxanne, forty-seven, currently filming the controversial serial killer series, was all over the American hunk at a reception in Durham. Sources from the set say that Dale, thirty-four, is smitten with his foxy leading lady. If these two can steam up the screen in the same way they steamed up the party, then we’re all in for a treat when the series airs later this year.
What the fuck! Red heat rose from Matt’s chest, creeping up his neck and envelope his face. What the hell was going on? Dale had said nothing about this. The article was full of hype and speculation—probably all made up—but there was no way he could ignore that photograph. Fuck, look at their mouths. That was a proper French kiss with tongues.
Matt was overwhelmed by emotions. Anger. Disappointment. He read the story again and a sense of hurt replaced his fury. Was any of it true? Was Dale stringing him along? Using him for a convenient fuck, when he couldn’t be with his glamorous co-star? The story in the paper was plausible enough. They had been at that party together.
Dale said he had no interest in women. Could he believe that? The photo told a different story.
Matt felt desolate. He’d been drawn into an intimate relationship with a man he didn’t know at all. Jumped in with both feet. Had he made a stupid mistake?
****
If the purpose of Keeley Rank’s presence was to bring a sense of hope and optimism to the set, then the opposite had been achieved. On Tuesday, Dale was more unsettled than ever. Keeley lurked around the old building. When she wasn’t trying to ingratiate herself with members of the crew, she was out front talking to the protestors, whose numbers had at least diminished.
Last night’s party had had an unsettling effect on the cast too. Roxanne was pissed at him over the knock back he gave her. Though she’d latched on tight for that damn kiss, he’d eventually managed to break her hold and told her very clearly that he wasn’t going to join the list of guys she toyed with on location.
Unfortunately, that was not borne out in today’s newspapers. Several of them had run the photo of the kiss, together with stories of their torrid behind-the-scenes affair. Dale had been oblivious to the headlines until mid-morning, when an assistant director had shown him one of the offending front pages. His blood boiled. Damn. He had to pay more attention to these frigging papers.
“Have you seen this?”
Roxanne was having her makeup retouched at the side of the set. She barely glanced at the paper and her expression didn’t change. “Yes.”
“A
nd it doesn’t bother you? It doesn’t piss you off? It’s bullshit.”
“It’s publicity. People are talking about us. We’re trending online. It’s good for the show.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Mismanaged publicity got us those crowds at the gate.”
She raised a weary brow. “And now they have something else to write about. Surely this is better than associating the show with the murders? Give the press a bit of spice and all that other stuff will go away.”
Was he hearing this right? A bit of spice. “Did you engineer this?” He waved the photo of their kiss in her face.
“No, Dale, I didn’t engineer it. But I’m not sorry about it. So what if it’s not true? We can still use it to our advantage. It’s show business. Don’t be so naive.”
He was called for his next scene. There was no time to get a message to Jack or Matt. He didn’t want either of them seeing these crappy stories before he had a chance to warn them. Neither would believe what the press were saying, but he’d feel better about it if they heard it from him.
The morning was a drag. A lot of the crew were nursing hangovers from last night. Work-night parties were never a good idea. Aaron hadn’t even made it in yet. Dale hoped it was because he’d had too much to drink and not because of their confrontation in the bathroom. Aaron had nothing to be embarrassed about. Dale took full responsibility for their brief affair, but it was over now. They had to put it behind them.
When lunch was finally called, he hurried to his trailer to retrieve his phone. He keyed in a brief message that he copied to Jack and Matt.
Take no notice of the stories in today’s press. I am NOT involved with Roxanne M.
Surely Matt was sensible enough to realize the story, despite the corresponding photo, was crap. Then again… Matt was so removed from this crazy world, maybe he didn’t understand the way it worked. Roxanne’s attitude was pretty standard within the industry. There was no such thing as bad publicity. They knew well enough that the papers would write about someone else in a few days’ time. Hot stories soon became old.
But, to an outsider, maybe that entire concept sounded as ridiculous as it was. From Matt’s point of view, his boyfriend was on the front pages kissing a woman. For a regular guy, that was a pretty irregular situation to be in.
Dale picked up his phone again and dialed Matt’s number. It went straight to voice mail.
“Hey,” he said to the answered phone. “You might have seen the papers today. I just want to let you know you have nothing to worry about. Roxanne kissed me at the party and that one photo is all that kiss amounts to. There’s no affair, no on-set liaison, nothing. I’ll tell you all about it later. I’ll pick up a takeaway and see you around eight. Okay? Don’t worry about this. I love you.”
I love you.
The words came out of his mouth before he even knew he was saying them. I love you. Holy shit. He’d said it out loud. And it was true. God damn him if it wasn’t.
He suddenly felt light inside. He was in love with Matt Blyth. Why’d he have to say it for the first time to a fucking answering machine? Idiot.
Still, he had said it. The words were out there. Dale laughed nervously. He just hoped Matt felt the same.
****
Jamie bought the coffee while his new partner, Detective Constable Shona Long, went outside to take a call from HQ. Unlike him, Shona was a permanent member of the MIT. A fact Jamie had yet to get over. It wasn’t anything she had said, done or even implied, to make him feel like a spare part of the team, it was just the way it was. He was one of a number of officers seconded to the unit, but those placements would be short-lived. When the case grew cold and the budget tightened, they would go back to where they came from.
Jamie had a very short window of opportunity to make an impression. That window would close soon. He had to shine before it did.
The only problem was he couldn’t stand his partner.
Shona was in her early forties. Tall and slender with shiny auburn hair. She wore trouser suits and expensive silk blouses, and despite her glossy appearance, she might as well have had Fuck You tattooed across her forehead. Getting ahead in the police force was as tough for women as it was for queers. Shona came from a common breed of policewoman. There were women like her in every station he’d worked at. Dressed to the nines with a mouthy attitude. They swore louder and talked dirtier than any of the men. He didn’t blame her for the chip on her shoulder. He carried a bigger chip of his own. Shona had fought, bitched, clawed, fucked and ass-kissed to get to where she was. Jamie was prepared to do all that and more to join her there. Permanently.
Shona, he knew instinctively, was not a team player. She would use anyone, steal their ideas and initiative to make herself looked good.
He carried the coffees over to the floor-to-ceiling glass front where he could keep an eye on her while scoping the large open car park. The coffee shop was located on an out-of-town industrial and shopping estate. Warehouses and factories nestled side by side with designer outlets and home furniture stores.
Shona, still on her phone outside, tossed her hair and laughed. In his personal life, he’d run a mile from her. She was not the kind of bitch he could ever be friends with. Her career was her best friend already, and she would tear down anyone who got in the way of it. But she also had the ear of his new boss, DCI Redgraves, which made her someone to keep on the right side of.
That was how police promotion worked. Fuck merit. It was all about who you knew and what you could do for each other.
At his first briefing on the team, before they were even paired together, he noticed the rapport Shona had with the boss. Her devotion to him crossed the fine line of respect and ass kissing but while her banter with the boss made Jamie cringe, Redgraves appeared to appreciate it. Because of that, Jamie was quietly delighted when instructed to accompany her on this afternoon’s investigation.
He caught sight of a silver BMW pulling into the car park. Its plate was obscured by other vehicles but Shona immediately terminated her call and jerked her head for him to join her. They were on.
“Triple shot cappuccino with Sweet’N Low,” he said, handing her the takeaway cup.
She took it without thanking him. “Our guy has just arrived.”
“I saw that,” Jamie said. “So how are we going to do this?”
“Save it for Grindr, pretty boy.” She laughed unpleasantly. “Guys like you are what got him into this mess. You’d better leave it to me.”
Bigoted bitch.
The man who got out of the BMW wore a dark gray suit. The color suited his grim expression. He was in his late twenties with a pleasant but unmemorable face, short blond hair that was going thin on top. Despite the ignorance of idiots like Shona, not all gays had an uncontrollable attraction to every guy they met. He could appreciate the man wasn’t bad looking but didn’t fancy him.
Especially not with the gold band on his wedding finger.
“Paul Goss?”
The detectives approached, displaying their ID. The man nodded, glancing at the badges before looking nervously around the car park.
“Would you like to do this inside?” Shona jerked a thumb toward the coffee shop.
“No,” Paul Goss replied hastily. “I don’t want to go anywhere we can be overheard.”
“Over here then,” Shona said, indicating a grassy area to the side of the building, far away from the outdoor smoking area.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Paul asked, glancing anxiously between them.
“We just want to ask you some questions, that’s all.” Jamie smiled.
Shona shot him a look. I do the talking, fuck wit, it said. “Right now, we’re trying to put together a picture of Olly Raymond. His lifestyle. That kind of thing.”
“I hardly knew him,” Paul said.
“We’ve got his Inte
rnet records,” Jamie said, ignoring Shona’s deathly stares. “Emails, Facebook. We know that’s not true, Paul. You knew him rather well. So let’s not waste time. Tell us what your relationship was.”
Paul nibbled at a fingernail. “All right. So I did know him, but not that well. We weren’t friends or anything like that. We would hook up now and then, nothing more.”
“Hook up?” Shona said. “Does that mean sex? I can’t keep up with all these queer terms.”
Jamie shot her a filthy look. She was trying to get a rise, from him as well as Paul.
“Yes,” Paul hissed.
“How often?”
“Once or twice a month, that’s all. Since last October. Like I said, we weren’t close or anything. I liked him. Olly. He was a really nice guy. Nicer than most I’ve met.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was nice. Just that. He was honest. If he arranged to meet me, he stuck to it. He wouldn’t cancel ’cause someone better came along. I…have to be discreet. He appreciated that. He didn’t push it or ask too many questions. What we had going on, well it was what it was. An afternoon here, an hour there. I didn’t want anything more than that and neither did he.”
“Did anyone else know about your…affair?”
“No one.”
“What about your wife?” Shona pushed.
“No,” Paul snapped. “She doesn’t know about that. And that’s how it’s got to stay.”
“When did you last see Olly Raymond?” Jamie asked softly. Shona’s challenging attitude was going to lose Paul’s patience.
“About three weeks ago. We were planning to get together again last week. That was before all this.”
“Where did you meet?”
“Grindr.”
“No, I mean where did you get together?”
“At his place. I won’t take guys home with me, and I don’t like hotels. But Olly had his own flat and didn’t mind taking me there.”
“Did you ever see anyone else at Olly’s place?”
“No. He was always alone.”
