‘Just wait till you see this.’
Her full name, Phil knew, was Detective Constable Elina Ghosh. But he, like the rest of the team, called her Elli. She was short, didn’t look like she hit the gym much, in her late twenties and Asian. Her naturally dark hair had been coloured with streaks of deep pink and red, and her ears, lips and nose bore indentations caused by removed jewellery. She pushed the MIU dress code as far as it would go, wearing T-shirts advertising bands and games Phil had never heard of – today’s said It’s On Like Alderaan, with the ‘On’ being a cartoon Death Star – plus jeans and boots that Judge Dredd would have been proud of. He liked her. He recognised something of his own attitude in her.
He and the rest of the MIU team were gathered around her desk, DCI Alison Cotter on his left, Sperring to his right, Khan next to him. The lower ranks were behind them. Phil was aware that there were more bodies in the briefing room than had been there previously. Clearly West Midlands Police were taking the investigation seriously.
‘What have you found, Elli?’ asked Cotter.
She glanced round, her eyes gleaming with the kind of triumph only geeks knew, Phil thought. Then she turned back to what was before her. Glenn McGowan’s laptop was open, the screen glowing, columns of incomprehensible letters and numbers scrolling down before them.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ said Elli. ‘Password-protected, firewall, the lot. With that level of security I was worried that he might have left a few spikes or booby traps in place. You know, to wipe the hard drive if you didn’t give the correct command. Luckily, he hadn’t. Still, he was good. Very good. But…’ She put her hands together, pushed them out from her body, flexed her fingers back until they cracked. She smiled. ‘I’m better.’
She put her hands on the keys and the screen changed to something more recognisable. A desktop, files stacked down the left-hand side, wallpaper in place. Phil studied it.
‘Marilyn Monroe,’ he said.
A photo montage of the dead Hollywood star took up the entire screen. Smiling, laughing, pouting. Looking gorgeous.
‘Girl of his dreams,’ said Sperring.
‘Or the girl he dreamed of being,’ said Phil.
‘I’ve had a look around,’ said Elli. ‘I thought he might have hidden some stuff away. But he hasn’t. It’s all here. All you could want, and more.’
‘Let’s see, then,’ said Phil.
Her fingers moved quickly over the keys once more. ‘There’s work stuff on here, files, documents. Routine stuff. Boring stuff. But…’ She pressed more buttons, waited for another file to appear. It was marked AMANDA. ‘Here,’ she said.
‘Amanda?’ said Khan. ‘His name was Glenn. Why didn’t he call himself Glenda?’
‘Think about it,’ said Phil. ‘Would you want to be called Glenda?’
Khan sank back into silence.
Elli clicked the file open. Thumbnails of photos filled the screen. She clicked on the first one, set up a slideshow. They showed a tall, awkward person dressed as a woman. Wearing a sleeveless summer dress, arms hairy and tanned up to his T-shirt line, unsure what to do with his limbs, what position to put them in, the posture of a long-distance lorry driver in drag. Heavy, inexpertly applied make-up, unconvincing wig. And the eyes: staring into the camera like a rabbit in the headlights. Almost paralysed with fear.
‘This looks like our man,’ said Sperring.
‘It is,’ said Elli. ‘Keep watching, they tell a story.’
The first few photos were all the same. A man they took to be Glenn McGowan dressed in women’s clothes, posing uncomfortably for the camera. The next section showed him draped over a bed in a black basque, suspenders and stockings, trying to look alluring.
‘Don’t fancy yours much,’ said Khan, sniggering.
A couple of other officers joined in. Phil didn’t.
‘I’ve clicked through all this,’ said Elli. ‘He’s put some of the best ones on his Flickr account. But I think it’s worth going through them all to follow his progress.’
Glenn McGowan was beginning to display more confidence in his female persona and the photos reflected this. His make-up improved, became subtle, more feminine. More doll-like, Phil thought. He also sported a selection of wigs, different colours and lengths depending on the clothes he was wearing and the mood the photos were trying to convey. Patterns emerged: short blonde wigs and brightly coloured dresses for sunny housewife-type shots, usually taken in kitchens or gardens; long dark wigs, low-level lighting and full silk underwear for sultry boudoir bedroom ones. Short dark wigs and tight-skirted business suits for office photos. Long blonde wigs and sequinned dresses for party-girl shots that, judging by the similarly made-up and dressed people in the photos, had been taken at transvestite bars and nightclubs. Again, Phil was drawn to the eyes. There was none of the earlier fear or reticence in them now. Glenn – or Amanda – was full of confidence and what seemed like the joy of living. Or the joy of living as a woman, thought Phil.
‘Looks happy enough,’ said Sperring, echoing his thoughts.
‘He does,’ said Phil. ‘But I wonder what he felt like when he had to take the party dress off and go back to being boring old Glenn?’
‘You sound like you want to give it a try,’ said Khan, sniggering once more.
Phil stared at him. Khan quickly broke eye contact, looked away. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he mumbled. Phil turned his attention back to the photos.
‘Here we go,’ said Elli, laughing. ‘Brace yourself, boys…’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Sperring, eyes on the screen, unable to hide his displeasure.
‘Language, Ian,’ said Cotter.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’
From the tone of his voice, Phil doubted he was.
The next set of photos showed Amanda enjoying the intimate company of other transvestites. They had neither the carefully staged quality of the earlier pictures nor the sense of fun and abandon from the party shots. What they did have was an intense carnal quality. Amanda, head back, eyes closed, looked like she/he was lost in the moment. Borne away by pleasure.
‘Disgusting,’ said Khan, looking round at his fellow officers for support for his views. ‘I mean, ’snot right, is it? Doing that. It’s just…’ He looked again at the photos. ‘God… shouldn’t be allowed to do that. Disgusting…’
‘You know, they do say,’ said Phil, still studying the screen, ‘that those who are most violently opposed to something are the ones who secretly wish they could do it.’
It took a few seconds for Khan to realise what he had said. The laughter of fellow officers told him. He turned to face Phil, anger on his face.
Phil stared at him. Khan backed down, reluctantly returned to looking at the pictures.
‘Are there any more?’ asked Phil.
‘A few,’ said Elli. ‘Things take an interesting turn next. Those were just the warm-up shots. Hope you’ve got strong stomachs…’
The setting for the photos changed. The backgrounds became stark, more industrial. Dungeon-like. Amanda was now dressed in bondage gear. Apart from one obvious physical characteristic, Phil noticed, she was looking more feminine than ever. There seemed to be no trace of Glenn McGowan whatsoever. From the positions she was in and what was being done to her, she was totally submissive.
The first few pictures showed some fairly innocuous mild S&M activity as Amanda was tied up, spanked.
‘Fifty Shades of Grey’s got a lot to answer for,’ said Sperring.
The images soon intensified. Amanda – apparently willingly – was depicted undergoing torture. Nipples and upper body first, then legs. Then they became worse, when they reached her anus.
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Sperring, turning away. ‘Broken bottles? How can he…? Jesus…’
Phil felt like joining him, but forced himself to keep watching. He soon wished he hadn’t. Amanda’s penis was shown being tortured in varying degrees of pain. Nettles first, then barbed wire, then even razor blades.
‘I think we’ve seen enough,’ said Cotter. ‘Turn it off, Elli.’
She did so. They all turned away from the screen. No one spoke.
‘Thoughts?’ asked Cotter.
‘He must have really come to hate himself,’ said Phil. ‘Or at least hated the male part of him.’
‘I think that was quite evident from those last few photos,’ said Cotter.
‘Like he was daring himself to cut his own penis off,’ said Phil.
‘Please,’ said Sperring, disgust in his voice. ‘Do you have to?’
‘You think these are bad,’ said Elli, grimacing, ‘wait till you see the DVDs.’