Logan and Rickards looked at DI Steel. This was one of those times where rank was a burden rather than a privilege. Senior officer on site got to break the bad news, those were the rules. But the inspector wasnt playing by them. Go on then, Sergeant, she whispered, youre up. Be gentle though, eh?
Wonderful. Were not here about vandalism, sir. Logan pulled the IBs touched-up morgue photo out of his pocket and handed it over. Do you recognize this man?
That got a long-suffering sigh and a weary, Whats he done?
Im afraid I have some very bad news for you.
10
They left PC Rickards in the lounge with Jasons mother. She was just sitting on the couch, silent and still, as if she wasnt really there. Mr Fettes was doing slightly better: bustling around the kitchen, apologizing for the smell as a small terrier did ecstatic circles about his legs, barking and wagging its tail. He picked the dogs dish off the mat by the washing machine and rinsed it under the tap, telling them what a good boy Wee Jock was for only going in the kitchen, when he could have crapped all over the house if hed wanted. Left here alone for two and a bit days. Really it was remarkable, when you thought about it. What with Jason not being here to feed him, or let him out. What with Jason being The tin opener clattered to the floor. Mr Fettes curled in on himself and cried.
DI Steel wrapped an arm around the sobbing mans shoulders and steered him to one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Here, why dont you let me feed the wee lad, eh? You sit there, and afterwards Ill get us a nice cup of tea. She threw a glance in Logans direction, silently mouthing the words go have a poke about.
Jasons room was easy enough to find: a double bedroom on the second floor with a computer desk in the corner and an Ikea bookshelf full of science fiction and fantasy novels. No posters on the walls, but a lot of framed photographs Jason with friends, Jason at the beach, Jason in America with a pretty dark-haired girl There wasnt a single photo in here that didnt feature his face. Posing for posterity. Logan slipped on a pair of latex gloves and eased the wardrobe door open. The clothes looked as if they might have been expensive once, now becoming slightly tatty with wear.
There was nothing much in the pockets: a few receipts from Burger King, a handful of nearly illegible notes scribbled on the back of napkins, some lint and three ribbed condoms. He tried the bedside cabinets: socks, underpants, handkerchiefs, more socks, a small silver key, a collection of cheap-looking pornographic magazines, and a handful of Crocodildo DVDs. Logan stuck them on top of the computer desk and peered under the bed. A small set of free weights, a plastic storage thing full of T-shirts, and a long metal chest. Padlocked. The key from the bedside cabinet fit perfectly.
Logan took one look inside. Whistled softly. Then locked it up again.
The computer desk was a mess of CDs and bits of paper. There were a couple of letters from Equity, the actors union, regretfully informing Jason that his application for membership was being declined as hed not been employed for his adult films on a suitable contract. A handful of pages ripped from the Stage with auditions circled in red ink. And right at the bottom of the pile: a parking ticket. Logan gave it a cursory glance, about to stick it back where hed found it when he saw the number plate. It was far too old to be the red Citroen parked in the driveway, and he knew it wasnt in the garage. He called Control, asking for a lookout report to be put on the vehicle. There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, complete with the clickity clack of a keyboard being pounded, and then, OK,so thats a lookout request for a blue Volvo estate, registration number-
What?
The number plate, it belongs to a blue Volvo estate.
Logan sighed. Of course it did.
He found DI Steel standing outside the back door, having a fag and staring out at the lowering clouds, her breath indistinguishable from the cigarette smoke in the cold morning air. She looked tired and old. Sorry, Laz, she said, as he stepped out into the cold, I just couldnt face telling someone else their kids dead. Some DI, eh? She sighed, then took another deep drag on her cigarette. One hundred and sixty-seven. Thats how many times Ive broken the news. I was working it out just now. A hundred and sixty-seven people. Another sigh. What a bloody job. We must be mad
I found something in Jasons room. The car he was dropped off in looks like it was his.
Shite.
Yup. Theres a computer as well. Ive told Mr Fettes were going to need to take it and a couple of other things down to the lab for analysis.
The poor sod had no idea his wee boy was making porn films. Makes you think, doesnt it?
You want Rickards to stay here with them?
What? She frowned, dragged back from a thoughtful pause. Better no. Hes no been trained, so Christ knows what hed come out with. Get a Family Liaison officer out here. Well nip back to the station soon as they arrive.
They drove back to FHQ with Jasons computer, the long metal chest from under his bed and his collection of pornography all stuffed in the boot of the car. Mr Fettes sat in the back with DI Steel coming in to formally identify his sons body. Down in the morgue viewing room, he took one look at Jason, said, He looks so small and asked to be taken home. All in a voice that was little more than a whisper. Steel got Alpha Six Nine to give him a lift.
Upstairs, the incident room was nearly empty, just a couple of PCs answering the phones while everyone else was off to the canteen for lunch. Logan had signed everything theyd taken from Jasons room into evidence, then out again, so they could go through it on one of the desks by the window. Steel went straight for the porn, examining the DVDs and reading out choice quotes from the cover blurbs in her best theatrical voice. Then came the magazines. They werent exactly high class, but they were explicit. And they all featured Jason Fettes.
Bloody hell, said Steel, holding up a two-page spread of their victim, two unidentified women and a man in a rubber mask, hes got a porn collection full of his own face. Narcissistic little onanist, isnt he? She stuck the magazine back on the pile. Whats in the box?
Logan unlocked it and showed them.
Fuck me! The inspector reached in and pulled out a full-length rubber suit with built-in arms, legs, gloves, and booties, all in matt black. She poked a latex-gloved finger through a little hole in the crotch. There was an identical one round the back. Think he got this at Marks amp; Spencer? There was a matching moulded, black rubber hood with tiny little holes for the nose and eyes in the box as well as a collection of bats, paddles, gags, and strange pink things: most of which were battery-operated.
Logan unlocked it and showed them.
Fuck me! The inspector reached in and pulled out a full-length rubber suit with built-in arms, legs, gloves, and booties, all in matt black. She poked a latex-gloved finger through a little hole in the crotch. There was an identical one round the back. Think he got this at Marks amp; Spencer? There was a matching moulded, black rubber hood with tiny little holes for the nose and eyes in the box as well as a collection of bats, paddles, gags, and strange pink things: most of which were battery-operated.
Logan peered at a weird, mushroom-shaped object. What the hells this?
Butt plug, said Steel and Rickards, both at the same time. Then the constable went bright red.
OK, Sherlock, the inspector grinned at him and pulled a small black plastic case out of the box, seeing as your specialist subject is sexual deviancy: whats this? She clicked it open, exposing a jumble of wires, pads and a controller.
Rickards went from red to deep scarlet. Its an electrostim set.
Yeah? she looked genuinely surprised.
You it gives you the electricity for heightening ahem.
Good is it? She pulled the controller out and started poking at the buttons.
It well, it depends I
Logan came to the constables rescue. At least this explains the strap marks we found on Jasons body.
Hmm? Steel put the controller back in its case and snapped the thing shut again.
Well, hes obviously heavily into the bondage scene. Someone picks him up, takes him home and ties him up, only it goes too far the guy panics and dumps him outside A amp;E. It was an accident.
An accident? How do you accidentally bugger someone to death?
You know what these bondage lot are like, said Logan, pointing at the contents of Jasons hope chest, one minute its tying each other up for a bit of light spanking, and the next its whips, chains, nipple-clamps and butt plugs. He might have been imagining it, but he got the feeling Rickards was scowling at him. And lets face it: if youre going to kill someone, there are better ways of doing it. Youve already got the guy tied up and gagged, why not just strangle him? Or put a plastic bag over his head. And why rush him to the hospital afterwards?
Steel scowled, obviously trying to come up with an alternative scenario. Oh bloody hell, she said at last, so much for my nice juicy murder. And then she stomped off to tell the ACC.
PC Rickards waited till she was gone before he spoke. You know, just because Jason was different it doesnt make him a pervert!
Logan stared at him. Oh my God, youre one of them arent you? Youre into all this bondage stuff!
I The constables face blossomed with beetroot-coloured embarrassment and then he stormed off, leaving a grinning Logan to pack Jason Fettes collection away.
Right, settle down you lot! DI Steel stood at the front of the briefing room while Aberdeens finest made themselves comfortable. We now have an ID for our victim. She nodded to Logan and he hit the button. Behind the inspector the screen filled with a smiling face, snapped on a beach somewhere a damn sight warmer than the northeast of Scotland. Jason Fettes, AKA: Dick Longlay. That got a laugh and the inspector let it die down before continuing. He made dirty movies for Crocodildo Films, which is how our very own PC Rickards was able to identify him.