White Lies (12 page)

“I suppose. What else have you got?”

“The woman at the estate agents said he was really well adjusted and happy. She couldn’t understand why he’d done it.”

“Again, all too common in suicides. It’s usually the people who know them best who never had any inkling.”

“What about the champagne in the fridge and the half-decorated house. He was obviously looking forward to his brother coming home.”

“Not something we can take into account either. You just don’t know with some people.” Peters sighed again. “Anything else? Because to be honest, you’re not convincing me.”

“There was a notebook, but we don’t know what it means. Hang on.” Meinwen fished it out of her bag. “Lots of entries of money coming in. In hundreds and multiples of a hundred, more often than not then taken out again when the amount his a thousand, or five hundred in some cases.”

“Money coming in and out of where? Where did it go?” Where does it come from?”

“That’s the problem really. I don’t know.”

“Then there’s nothing I can do to tie it into probable cause. Look, Meinwen, I’m sorry, but this is how it goes. I can’t reopen a suicide because the family thinks it was unlikely their loved one topped themselves, can I? Tell you what, I’ll keep the file on my desk and if you come across anything else let me know. The source of that money might swing the balance if you can trace it. An estate agent doesn’t come into cash like that in a hurry. Maybe he was getting backhanders from somewhere.”

“Okay. Thank you, Sergeant. The more I find out about this John Fenstone the less I know. He’s a real mystery man. Perhaps after I’ve talked to his solicitor.”

“Good luck with that. They stonewalled us when we tried to get information about him. Client-solicitor privilege.”

“I’ve got his brother, though. As the heir to the estate they can’t not divulge everything.”

“Let’s hope so. Was there anything else at all?”

“Not unless you want to invite me for dinner.”

“Ah. I’d love to, but the wife frowns on extramarital affairs, particularly when they’re not hers.”

Meinwen laughed. “I don’t blame her. Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Right. Look after yourself, particularly if you come across anything shady.”

Meinwen disconnected, putting the phone away then leafing through the notebook again. What was most worrying was round numbers. Exactly a hundred pounds, exactly three hundred. What legal business dealt in exact amounts?

She put the book away and hauled herself upright, gathering the tea things and carrying the tray back to the kitchen where Jimmy was browsing the contents of the laptop. “You got into it then?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t too hard.” Jimmy smile brightened the whole room. “I wondered what I’d use for a password if I was John. It took me four tries to guess.”

“What was it?” Meinwen put the tray on the work surface next to the sink and turned, leaning against the cupboard with her hip thrust out and forward.

“Elizabeth. That was our mam’s name. Something that would never change throughout his life.”

“That’s sweet. He must have really loved her.”

“We both did.” Jimmy frowned. “I’ve found his Facespace and Tweeter feeds. He didn’t have that many friends.” He pulled up the relevant pages. “Er...they seem to be a little rude.”

Meinwen reached over and used the touchpad to scan John friends list. She flicked through the messages and status updates, too. “He certainly knew some fit young men, didn’t he?”

“I should say so. “ Jimmy tapped a finger on a piece of paper he’d set out next to him. “He had an account on ‘leatherfap dot com’ too but I can’t work out his password on that. The same with his online bank pages. I did get into his email but there’s nothing there. Some information about this place but that’s about all.”

“What about his email provider? They often keep a copy of the mail on their system so you can access it from somewhere else if you’re not at home.”

“No joy. I thought of that. I asked for a password hint but it asks a security question I can’t answer.”

“What was it?”

“‘Peter’s piercing.’ Who the hell is Peter?”

“A boyfriend, maybe? Did you try the obvious ones?”

“Prince Albert and belly button? Yeah.”

“There are all sorts of piercings. I can’t even remember the names of all of them, though I would have done a few years ago.”

“I’m too out of it. I haven’t a clue. All I know was that a single earring meant you were gay.”

“Which is fine if everyone knew which ear it was.” Meinwen grinned. “I was at school in the nineties. And there was a distinct difference of opinion.”

“Which is it, then?”

“These days it doesn’t matter. In those days it was the left.” She winked. “For bottoms, anyway.”

“There’s a folder of pictures of this place, too. Before and after pictures as he did it up. It’s fascinating really. I must have another look in the bedroom area, because there’s a door onto the roof up there.”

“Onto the roof? Is that safe?”

“It’s a fire escape for the two top floor flats but John was in the habit of tanning up there.”

“Brilliant. You’ve landed of your feet here.” Meinwen scanned through the Tweeter messages. “What’s this ‘Mill Street’ he keeps going on about?”

“I don’t know. It comes up a few times in his Facespace, too.”

Meinwen pulled the laptop round and typed “Mill Street” into the desktop search. As well as the expected mapping applications it showed several folders buried in subdirectories. She opened one. Inside was a series of documents, each with a name. Mistress Gold, Mistress Black, Mistress Venom and several others. “Well!” She opened one at random and scanned the file. “It looks like your brother was running a dungeon on the side. That would certainly explain the income of several hundred pounds a day.”

“A dungeon? Do you mean a brothel? That doesn’t sound like something John would do.”

“Not a brothel. Dungeons offer sexual services that don’t include penetration. They generally tread a fine line between prostitution and the law, staying firmly on the latter side if they can help it.”

“Leather and bondage and whips?”

“Oh my.” Meinwen sat back. “We’re not in Kansas any more.”

Chapter 9

“Okay.” Meinwen busied herself brewing another cup of tea to give herself time to think. “We don’t actually know if he ran the dungeon. He could be someone who worked there. Perhaps he went there himself.”

“Then he’d be paying money out, surely? Not receiving it by the wallet load.”

“I suppose.” Meinwen set the kettle to boil and opened the file again, bent at the waist to flick through the portraits.

“What are you looking for?” Jimmy craned his neck to watch the screen. “Tempted to go yourself? You seem to like being spanked all right.” He patted her bottom.

Meinwen gritted her teeth, moving a few inches to the side. Whatever fantasies she had about him, he was about as emotional as a sock. Her eyes still prickled from her earlier tears. She had no intention of tempting an emotional rollercoaster to hit as soon as she left the house. “I’m not really certain. I wondered for a moment if he was one of the mistresses, either as a male dominatrix or a professional submissive. I’ve seen that happen before. I knew a great dominatrix in Aberystwyth who went by the name of Mistress Heaven who catered to everyone. She did well, primarily because she had a niche market. Underneath the leather and the corsets she was a gay man servicing the gay S and M scene. It was a brilliant cover for anyone in the closet. Even if they were caught going to see her it was assumed they were straight.”

“Mistress Heaven, eh? What was his real name?”

“Trevor. He used to work at the Chrysler dealership until it closed down. It certainly explained why all her gear was in Riviera Tan leather. It’s what they upholstered the cars in.” She winked and nudged his arm. “I can give you her phone number if you like. She does half-price on Tuesday afternoons.”

“No thanks. Looks as though I’ve got plenty on my doorstep.”

“You certainly have.” Meinwen closed the folder and browsed through the root directory. “Have you come across any photographs of John?”

“A few. There are his profile shots on Facespace and there’s a folder of him in...various poses. I only glanced through them though. I hadn’t seen John naked since we kids having to shower together.”

“Mind if I have a look?” She didn’t wait for a reply, opening the folder and enlarging the pictures to full screen. John Fenstone was a well-built man who looked after himself. Close-cropped hair in the style of a Roman senator, light, close-trimmed moustache and beard, piercing blue eyes and a physique that would make a straight man look twice. Not heavily muscled but certainly fit. Meinwen licked suddenly dry lips as she called up picture after picture. Some were intimate close ups, like one showing his clearly circumcised penis and another taken from the rear as John bent over, the dark asterisk of his anus clearly displayed as available, a mole down and to the left acting as a counterpoint to the composition. There were several shots of penile origami as well, the photographs taken in silhouette with a light shining through a stretched scrotum, the traceries of veins like a road map of the Red Planet. Behind her, the kettle boiled and clicked off.

She stood again, pressing a hand to her back to ease the sudden pain, wishing she’d sat to look at the pictures instead of leaning over the table.

“Good looking, wasn’t he?” Jimmy grinned. “We could have been twins.”

Meinwen looked at him. His hair was a shaggy grown-out prison cut and while his beard was short, it was short because it was grubby stubble rather than a neatly trimmed beard. His clothes looked to be the same ones he’s worn to go to prison in ten years ago. “Twins? Maybe. That’s not what you said earlier, though.” She patted his shoulder. “You’ve got the better physique. Wiry.”

“Prison food and exercise.” Jimmy grinned, turning back to the computer while Meinwen made a second cup of tea.

“You certainly know your way around a laptop.” Meinwen placed his filled mug back on the table. “What were you in prison for again?”

“Trafficking in stolen goods.” He picked up the tea. “Ta. We were allowed computers in the nick. An hour a day for the last couple of years, since I was an exemplary prisoner. I got to know my way around them pretty well. Ended up knowing more than the room supervisor, too. The future’s in computers. If you don’t know your way around them you’ll struggle forever.”

Meinwen sat in the other chair. “You’ll get no argument from me. I couldn’t do without one now. I do all my shop accounts and write my books and pamphlets, too.” She took a sip of tea, looking out the window. “It’ll be dark soon. I ought to get going.”

“I think I’ll stay here tonight.” Jimmy gave her a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a much nicer place and I won’t have John’s specter leaning over my shoulder.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She looked about the kitchen. “I wouldn’t want to sleep in the house where my brother killed himself either.”

“Allegedly.”

“Quite.” She put her tea on the table. “At least it’s stopped raining. I might walk back. Take in the air.”

“Through this neighborhood?” He scooped up his mug by putting three fingers through the handle, his palm directly against the hot stoneware. He pressed it to his lips, sucking noisily at the hot tea. “I said I’d drive you home, didn’t I? I just don’t know where John left his car.”

“You offered but I refused. Besides, I didn’t see any garages as we got here. Did you?”

“No, but I know a way to find it. It depends on the range of the key, of course.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Come with me a minute.” He led the way back to the mezzanine balcony and teased open a panel in the wall to reveal a door secured by three bolts. “Roof access.”

A narrow staircase led up to another glazed door set horizontally in the ceiling. Jimmy unbolted it, swinging it out and over. He glanced back, grinning. “I saw this on the photographs of the flat. It’s still light enough to go up.”

He stepped out into the gathering dusk, pausing to offer Meinwen a steadying hand. To their right lay the dazzling array of glass that was the living room roof, a series of standard skylights to their right marking the other flat. The rest of the roof was a level surface covered in fine gravel though, surprisingly, a small polypropylene bike shed stood next to the hatch. Jimmy peeped inside. “Deck chairs.”