Chapter Twelve

The next day, Joe was looking through Zak’s social media profiles to see if they shed any light on the theory that Zak could be Leviticus. In the middle of reading a pretty much impenetrable thread of comments between Zak and everyone’s favourite punting rapper, the guards outside sent Joe a message.

 

Commander Holloway has just parked further up the road.

 

Joe got to his feet to put the kettle on.

“Alejo!” he called. “We’re going to have a visitor!”

He heard Alejandro’s feet pad along the landing from Paloma’s room, where he had been at the sewing machine since before breakfast. “Who’s that?” he called downstairs. “Do I need to put my face on?”

Joe stuck his head around the door into the hallway. “It’s Commander Holloway! One of his flying visits. Now, do you want to tell him about Zak, or have me mention it? You don’t have to report Zak, but…I can at least make Holloway aware that Zak could be Leviticus.”

Alejandro descended the staircase, a length of royal blue hair in one hand and a brush in the other. He paused on the bottom riser and held it up against his head, examining his reflection in the mirror. Then he said, “I don’t want to make anything official, but I think maybe we should tell him. What do you think?”

Relief flooded through Joe. As much as he’d like to see Zak properly charged for the violence he’d meted out, this was a start.

“Yes, we can do that. And, Alejo, I realise how difficult this is, but you’re being really brave.”

“If Zak finds out…” He winced, snapping his head round as Patrick’s knock sounded at the door. One day he wouldn’t be so jumpy at every little sound, Joe reminded himself. This would pass.

Joe checked the spyhole, even though he recognised Patrick’s knock, and saw the upright figure of his boss waiting on the step. Joe unlocked the door and let Patrick inside.

“Sir? I’ve just put the kettle on. Any news on Leviticus?”

“Good morning, Sergeant Wenlock, Mr Fuente.” Patrick greeted them both with a friendly nod. “And Mr Fuente’s…hair?”

“Part of it.” Alejandro grinned. “I’ll take Azul back to her room, don’t mind me.”

He trotted back upstairs and Patrick turned to Joe. For a moment he looked utterly perplexed, then he said, “One or two colourful messages on social media. They’re all on the system for you to look at. But all is worryingly quiet. Or happily quiet, if one prefers to be an optimist! Did I hear the mention of tea on this freezing November day?”

“You did indeed. Come on through.” Joe beckoned Patrick to follow him into the kitchen, too late realising that he was behaving like the host. But he was living here. “I’m glad there hasn’t been anything else from Leviticus, but there’s something we need to talk about. Or someone, at any rate.”

“I have the forensic results from the studio too,” Patrick said as he stood his cane against the worktop and removed his heavy coat. “It’s a bit of a nightmare, in all honesty, Joe. These are theatrical pieces, they’ve been worn, handled, altered. The only thing we can be sure of is that whoever went through that lock wasn’t exactly a master of his craft.”

“Yeah, it looked like a botched job.” Joe recalled Zak trying to force his way into the house last night and the smashed wood around the lock on the studio’s door made sense. “Remember I flagged up Zak Smythe-Unwin to you? Don’t suppose we’ve got a record of his DNA? Not that it’d make much difference as I saw him in the studio with my own eyes. Unless forensics have found anything on the rope?”

“It was cut from a length used in a rock concert that Mr Fuente provided makeup effects for. It was hanging on the studio wall.” Patrick took out a small notepad from his jacket pocket and consulted it with a frown. “Can’t read my own writing… Nobody I’ve heard of, but you might have. Essentially though, it’s been through dozens of hands. The boys are working on it but there’s little hope of turning anything up. As for Mr Su, his DNA is of little help since he has every reason to be there!”

“He’s never been charged with anything, has he? So we won’t have his DNA. Sod it.” The kettle clicked off and Joe made the tea. “Mr Fuente wants to talk to you about his boyfriend. He doesn’t want to press charges—yet—but what he’ll say might suggest that we have a suspect for Leviticus.”

“We have considered it,” Patrick replied, rather indulgently. “You won’t be surprised to know that he was right at the top of the list, Joe, and he’s still rather high on it!”

“You know he came round last night, then left not long afterwards?” Joe spoke slowly, hoping Zak hadn’t reported him for dangling him out of the window. If he’d even remembered. Patrick’s nod was utterly casual though and he settled at the kitchen table, clearly not at all concerned by the comings and goings of Alejandro’s personal life. Or the fact that his CPO had hung a man out of the bedroom window.

Joe put a mug down in front of Patrick. “I encouraged him to leave. He…he’s violent towards Peanut.”

“Good Lord, is he?” Patrick glanced towards the ceiling and lowered his voice. “Go on.”

Joe sat down next to Patrick with his tea. He took a steadying mouthful before replying. “Zak turned up the worse for wear. I wanted to turn him away, but Peanut was too scared of Zak to let me send him packing. So I went back to bed. I heard a cry from Peanut’s bedroom, and when I went in, Peanut had been injured.” Joe pointed to his shoulder. “He’s got a cut from where he fell against something when Zak slapped him across the face. I could see a red mark on Peanut’s cheek. It was at that point that I told Zak to leave.”

“The poor devil.” He shook his head, his face darkening. “And will he make a complaint?”

Joe shook his head. “Not yet. You know how it is. Sometimes people are too scared to report it. But the aggression I saw in Zak—drug-fuelled, I might add—shocked me. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if those comments online, and the firework, and the hanged head—I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re driven by the exact same aggression as I saw last night. He’s a bully. He enjoys terrifying Peanut.”

“And how go things from the other side? I’m well aware you weren’t particularly enthused about remaining with Peanut.” Patrick took a sip of tea. “Has life become any easier or does he continue to be a challenge?”

Joe thought of Alejandro’s toes, rippling in delight as he stroked his foot. “Oh, yeah, we have a kind of…entente. Peanut’s accepted that he’s not safe from Leviticus, so he’s grudging but glad that I’m here now.”

“While we’re alone…” Patrick’s voice dropped to a hush. “What do you make of his lifestyle? He’s a risk-taker, yes? Bit of a loose cannon? Just how out of control is our young Peanut?”

“He’s not that out of control at all. He’s creative, a free spirit, but I wouldn’t say he’s wild or anything like that,” Joe said. “Even his drag alter ego, Paloma Picante, which we somehow missed, isn’t cause for concern at all. Peanut’s an accomplished performer, and I suppose you’ll have heard that Dreadnought’s asked him to perform at some charity do? In drag!”

“It’s all very brave new royal.” Patrick laughed gently, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “The Diana effect, though you’re too youthful to recall all that. What a business. Not often one finds oneself so affected but that was a tough one. I was on her team, you know, before all that bother. I wasn’t old as Methuselah then, of course.”

A sprightly young Patrick, who walked unaided. Joe’s glance fell to the stick, and he felt a pang of guilt. Patrick had been covering for Joe that day. It could’ve been Joe who was blown up into the air by the bomb. As it was, Joe had had his close encounter with a mad fan of Spanish film. It was almost evened out, even if Joe had no visible scars. And no stick.

“I think Peanut’s struggled a bit to fit in, you know, but when I was at Pineapple’s party the other night, they all loved him.” Joe took a sip of his tea. “I’m glad they’re not a stuffy old lot these days. Imagine if we’d had to babysit Queen Victoria!”

“Even I’m not quite that old!” The commander laughed, his attention going to the doorway a moment before Alejandro appeared, now without a wig to comb. “Here’s our young gentleman, all in one piece thanks to the sergeant.”

“All one gorgeous piece,” Alejandro agreed. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of orange juice. “Have you told the boss all about last night?”

“Yes, I have,” Joe said. “I’ve told him you don’t want to report it just yet. But now you know, Commander, is there enough for Mr Smythe-Unwin to be put under surveillance?”

“We have to tread very carefully in these enlightened times,” Patrick replied. “Mr Fuente, would you join us?”

Alejandro did so without complaint, bringing the bottle with him as he settled into the seat beside Joe.

“If you’re able, I’d like to talk to you a little more about your friend. Some details might seem a little invasive but I can assure you that they’re necessary.” As he spoke, Patrick glanced to Joe as though seeking his confirmation for Alejandro. “We need to build up a picture of Mr Smythe-Unwin. Is that all right?”

For long, silent seconds Alejandro said nothing. Then, finally, he nodded.

Joe gave Alejandro an encouraging smile. Under the table, he rested his foot against his, unable to make any show of affection that Patrick might spot. He felt Alejandro’s toes move, stroking gently.

Patrick had been in this world longer than Joe could imagine, but watching him tease the facts of the sorry relationship from Alejandro was a masterclass in gentle persuasion. The pace was slow, the questions sometimes deceptively anodyne but bit by bit Alejandro extended his confidence to the commander. Some of it at least, for of the blackmail video there was no mention. Violence, it seemed, was simply part of the relationship between Zak and his lover but still Joe got the impression that there were occasional details that he was editing out of the narrative. Chief among them was the coercion he had hinted at the previous evening.

‘Zak wanted a blow job.’ The thought of him demanding that from Alejandro threatened to reawaken Joe’s anger, but instead he composed himself, a picture of professionalism in the face of the commander.

Eventually it seemed as though the revelations were done and Patrick nodded, as fatherly now as he had been on those hospital visits. Strange to think only a dozen years or so separated him from Joe.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully. “I can’t tell you how to conduct your personal affairs, Mr Fuente, but I can tell you that Mr Smythe-Unwin certainly merits further consideration from my side. If you were my boy, I’d hope you might reconsider the relationship. In fact, I’d hope you’d reconsider any further involvement with him at all, but in the meantime, let me put your mind at ease. The house is impregnable. We have our finest people on this case and in Sergeant Wenlock, you’ve my finest man. I’d trust him with my own life.”

“Thanks, Commander. That means a lot.” Joe’s smile disappeared almost at once, as The Flight of the Bumblebee played from his phone.