Dulce et Decorum (continued)

Title: Dulce et Decorum (4/?)
Author: laeglass
Rating: NC-17 overall for language, violence and sexual content
Pairing: VM/OB
Warnings: violence, language, mentions of prostitution, mentions of sexual kinks (S&M)
Disclaimer: It’s all made-up lies. No harm intended, no profit made.
Feedback: Yes please! :)
A/N: ClubCP does exist in reality. However, as this is an AU story, I have made a few things up. Also, please don’t shoot me after reading this chapter.
Beta by tularia. *hugs*


Chapter Four


Wednesday
morning

Friendship is mainly about trust, the DCI firmly believed. Trust means that you will confide in your friend and trust them to be honest and straight with you. Trust means that you can tell anything and everything, and know that no matter what it is your friend will be there for you, stand beside you, and support you in your decisions.

Friendship also means that they will be brutally honest with you, tell you when you’re ten times a fool and should get your head out of your arse. And Sean was the only one close enough to Viggo for him to consider him a friend. It didn’t hurt that Bean knew the overall situation and the boy in question; the DCI needed his friend to be brutal, tell him how idiotic it would be to get involved, and how utterly foolish he had been to have gone to meet the boy in the first place.

Even if Bean hadn’t been a personal friend of Viggo’s he would have deserved to hear everything that could jeopardize the investigation, and to get involved sexually or otherwise, with someone who was a close friend of one of the victims was a sure way to ensure that impartiality was shot to hell.

DCI Mortensen calmly told the DS of what had happened with Orlando the previous night, bracing himself for the verbal onslaught that was sure to follow; and if there was something to be said about Detective Sergeant Bean, it was that he never let his friends down.

“I can’t believe you,” Sean said furiously. “I’ve never known you to be one to compromise your professionalism, Viggo. And over what? A rentboy who’s chin deep in this sodding mess!” He threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

“It isn’t what you think,” Viggo said, rather lamely. “He made an error in judgement, as did I. No harm has been done, and no professionalism has been compromised.”

Sean eyed him disbelievingly. “Imagine that our roles were reversed. That there’s this beautiful hooker who has the hots for me, and is badly entangled in the mess, and I go and meet her in my car and we have a nice snog. Wouldn’t you be giving me this same speech I’m giving you now? Damn right you would. It’s fucking unprofessional, that’s what it is. I can’t believe you were daft enough to actually –“

Viggo interrupted his rant with an impatient wave. “Save your breath, Sean. You’re not saying anything I haven’t told myself a hundred times already.” A bemused little smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “I know I sound like an old fool running after a pretty face, but I’m sure you know me better than that.”

Sean calmed down a little. “I know you think that the boy was very distraught and you wanted to comfort him; that’s not wrong in itself. Something just tells me that this kid knows more than he lets on. What makes you think he’s not using you? I wouldn’t put it past him to try and manipulate you.”

“Why would he do that?”

”Just think. First he says he knows nothing, then he shows up saying he knows something, and yet later he comes up with a journal and more information. I say the boy is playing you. Maybe his gaydar pinged on you and he thinks he can use his charms and pretty face to get you to do what he wants,” the DS elaborated, not cowering as his friend’s eyes narrowed at the implication. “I mean, come on. There’s something suspicious about the whole thing.”

“You’re right, Sean”, Viggo said softly. “We shouldn’t take anything we’re told for face value, I know.”

“Damn right,” the DS said. “Let’s just agree that the next time he shows up, if he ever shows up again, I’ll tell him you’re unavailable and he’ll have to deal with me. We really cannot let this whatever-it-is between you two come in the way of the investigation. It’s too damn important.”

“Okay, now that we have this settled,” the DCI said lightly. “I have a feeling you’re not quite finished with Csokas yet, right?”

“There’s something rotten about that man,” Bean said, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t quite explain it but I have this feeling in my gut. He’s too… perfect. Too flawless. I’d like to delve deeper into his business.”

Viggo nodded. “You do that. I’ll be taking Dom, once he shows up, to see this Sinclair person. So far he’s the only one with any kind of motive. Couldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say; it’ll be rather interesting to find out what’s his take on this whole thing.” Interesting to see if Orlando lied to me yesterday.

Just then Detective Constable Monaghan popped his head in the door. “Did I hear my name mentioned?” he asked. “Sorry, morning traffic was mad.”

“As it is every morning,” Bean muttered under his breath.

* * *

Mr. Sinclair

Mr. Sinclair was having a light lunch with a companion when the DCI and the DC were admitted in by his secretary; only it looked like the older man was eating and the boy in his lap was busy devouring his neck. Dominic’s eyes shifted uncomfortably from the two men to inspect the room, only to find out that the owner of the escort agency liked to surround himself with paintings and sculptures that mainly revolved around the subject of a naked male form. In quiet desperation he turned to look at his boss. Viggo was secretly amused by Monaghan’s discomfort, but his own attention was firmly centered on the man they had come to visit.

“New Scotland Yard,” Viggo introduced. “I’m DCI Mortensen and this is DC Monaghan. Could we perhaps have a little of your time?”

“To what I do owe this pleasure?” Sinclair asked, not hiding the fact that the interruption wasn’t welcome at all, and put down his bottle of Evian. Remnants of a turkey sandwich were on the desk before him, seemingly abandoned in favour of the amorous youth on his lap. The boy gave one look at the DCI and DC before turning back to Sinclair.

“Harry,” the boy on his lap near-whined when he seemed to have lost the man’s interest, nuzzling his face against the older man’s neck. Mr. Sinclair impatiently pushed him away.

“Go find yourself someone to play with,” he said rather unkindly. “Can’t you see that I have guests?”

The boy got up and with a surly glance to the detectives he left the room with a defiant sway to his hips, slamming the door closed behind him. Sinclair watched him go with a slight smile.

“Pretty, ain’t he?” he said, taking a small sip of his water and looking the DCI in the eyes. “Bad thing is, he knows he’s damn beautiful and acts accordingly, moody and all that shit, and thinks he can get away with anything.”

“I’m assuming this wasn’t your partner Hugo Weaving?” DCI Mortensen said with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Sinclair’s mouth curled into a sarcastic smile.

“Hardly,” he answered. “Hugo is visiting relatives in Australia; I’m simply keeping myself occupied with my young friends.” Then he sobered. “So, what is it that you want with me? If you’re here on company business you’re wasting your time, and mine. Our business is legal.”

“We’re investigating two murders,” the DCI said bluntly, going straight to the point as was his way. “One of the victims used to work for you, we’ve been told.”

Mr. Sinclair straightened in his seat, his previous good mood all gone. “Are you accusing me of something?” he asked, his voice rising. “I’ve never done any harm to any of my boys, and anyone saying otherwise is a goddamn liar.”

Interesting reaction. “We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr. Sinclair. We just want you to confirm if it’s true or not. Does the name Jude Law ring a bell?”

The man deflated. “Jude. Should have fucking guessed; that boy always got into more trouble than he could handle.” Sinclair raised his head to look earnestly at the DCI. “Yes, he worked for me a few years back. We didn’t part on amicable terms, but I haven’t done anything to him.” His eyes narrowed. “Just who exactly is your source? Let me guess; that lying little piece of shit Orli Bloom.”

The DCI bit his tongue at the slight to Orlando and refrained from making a comment. DC Monaghan frowned. “Sounds like there’s some bad blood there, too.”

The man blushed crimson. “That boy is a filthy liar,” he growled. “A thieving little piece of shit. Don’t believe anything he says about me. I bet he’d love nothing better than see me convicted for something I didn’t even do.”

“Why would he want that?” DCI Mortensen pressed on. “Why this animosity?”

Mr. Sinclair pulled a waste paper basket from under his table and dropped his empty water bottle inside and wrapped the few morsels of the sandwich in the plastic wrapper, cleaning his table. To the DCI it looked that the man was just playing for time, and he frowned impatiently, wondering why Mr. Sinclair needed to think his answer for such a simple question. Finally the man straightened in his chair, obviously having reached some kind of decision.

“He was my little friend for a while,” Mr. Sinclair said, the implication heavy in his words, “and couldn’t deal with me entertaining other pretties too. He got jealous after a while and tried to get all bitchy-slappy with me, and that’s when I told him to get lost.” His lip curled into a sneer. “Of course I later found out that he’d stolen pretty neat sums of money from my wallet, but I did nothing about it because I didn’t want to look like a fool, or for Hugo to find out. He doesn’t exactly like me dating the boys. Orlando left soon after that.”

“With Jude,” Monaghan clarified. “Tell us about that.”

Sinclair shrugged. “Not much to tell. Boys told their clients that they were leaving the company, and most of them followed. There wasn’t all that much drama. Definitely nothing that would make me want to murder Jude over two years later.”

“It didn’t bother you that two of your most popular boys left your agency?” DCI Mortensen asked disbelievingly.

“Well,” the man said lazily. “Of course it meant a loss of income. Orlando worked really hard, and Jude was insanely popular. Hugo was absolutely livid about them leaving. But what could I do? Orlando had made up his mind, and Jude could never say no to him. Few could, actually.”

The DCI nodded. “You believe that Orlando still holds a grudge after two years?” he asked. “That’s a long time; why would he stick to his bitterness for so long?”

“I’ll show you something,” Sinclair said and took something from one of the drawers in his desk, handing it to the DCI. “Those are some photos I took a few years back. Take a look on them.”

Viggo looked at him before taking the package from the man, opening the folder handed to him and taking out a few photographs, immediately wishing that he’d been spared from seeing them. All of them were of Orlando, naked and flushed. One photo had him kneeling on the floor, looking up at the person taking the picture, his face all covered in come. The DCI felt heat rise on his cheeks and put the pictures back in the folder; he’d seen enough.

“He wanted those to himself. I said no,” Sinclair explained. “Boy was so used to getting his own way, poor thing. Swore sweet revenge when I said these would make a fine addition to my private collection.” He put the folder in the drawer again. “You see, I wasn’t lying. He really did sleep with me for a couple of months before I called it quits. He threatened to tell Hugo if I didn’t give him the photos. That sneaky little minx.”

“Did he tell your partner?” Monaghan asked, sharing a glance with Viggo. Blackmail?

“Yes, he did. Hugo was angry for a while but he’s smart enough to get past that kind of thing,” Sinclair said, shrugging. “I suggest you speak with that boy again; he’s sure to have some kind of agenda. Just make sure he won’t try and seduce you. Though he most probably will.” A wry smirk crossed his lips. “Once a whore, always a whore. Sure he made me a lot of money but I’ll still say, good riddance.”

* * *

“Gotcha,” Bean said triumphantly as he put down the receiver. Seemed he wasn’t the only one smelling something rotten when it came to Csokas; a brief inquiry inside the Yard had resulted in a long call to Economic and Specialist Crime, which in turned had unearthed several interesting things.

Firstly, Csokas’ company had been under scrutiny since last April. It was suspected of money laundering, antique smuggling and tax evasion. So far nothing concrete had come up but as the detective Sean had spoken to, said; it was only a matter of time. Also, Mr. Csokas was thought to have committed several economic crimes in his home country before immigrating to the UK.

Secondly, the unit had received a mysterious phone call only two weeks prior from a person who didn’t wish to identify themselves, but said that he had insider information and water-proof evidence that Csokas Ltd. really was involved in all it was suspected of. They hadn’t given their phone number or other contact info, but had promised to come forth when the time was ripe and provide for suitable evidence to back up their claims.

The call had been tracked, of course, but the number had been one of those pre-paid SIM cards, and therefore it had been impossible to locate the caller. He hadn’t called again.

Bean was sure the caller had been Elijah. Of course he had no proof, yet, but perhaps a more thorough search in the boy’s room would result in the finding of his cell phone. The DS felt certain that for whatever reason Elijah had wanted to rat about his employer and he had been silenced.

The DS couldn’t wait to call the DCI and tell him that he believed he had found the motive to the murders. Only they still had no idea what was the connection between the victims. Bean’s brow furrowed and he picked up the receiver again. He had yet to learn what the search to Jude’s apartment had unearthed; perhaps the much-longed-for link between the two boys.

* * *

“What a sleeze ball,” Monaghan said promptly as soon as they left Mr. Sinclair’s office. “Funny, he went on and on about how this Orlando guy has so many reasons to hate him, but to me it just seemed that it was him who was still holding a grudge.” He made a face. “And all those photos. Tha’t just creepy, man.”

Viggo nodded. “True. He went to great lengths to show us that there hasn’t been any bad blood on his part; but it still feels to me that he didn’t take Orlando and Jude leaving all that lightly.” He unlocked the car doors and climbed in, immediately turning on the heater. “But we’ll have to bear in mind that all this happened two years ago. I don’t find it plausible that he would have waited for two years to get back at the boys; and it seemed that he had more against Orlando than Jude, in any case.”

“Unless he just didn’t want to bring up any Jude related stuff,” Dominic pointed out. “It would hardly make him look good if he were to badmouth Jude to us and reminisce about all these things that caused the bad blood between them in the first place.”

The DCI chewed on his lower lip deep in thoughts. Sinclair had contradicted practically everything Orlando had told him the day before. He knew he should probably talk with Orlando again, and he wondered at the reluctance he felt. What kind of detective was he; letting some young man affect him so much that he’d hesitate at contacting him again? The cowardly way to go about it would be to make either Sean or Dominic deal with him instead, and right now the DCI was tempted to be a coward.

“What’s this?” Monaghan’s voice interrupted his musings, and Viggo turned to look at the Detective Constable. He was holding Jude’s journal in his hands, and with a start the DCI realised that in his distraught frame of mind he had forgotten the journal in his car after the meeting with Orlando. He hadn’t even taken a look on it yet. A wave of guilt washed through him then; this ill-advised involvement with Orlando had already affected his work and his performance.

“Oh, that. Jude’s friend gave it to me yesterday,” he said dismissively. “Would you mind going through it? I have—“ Right then his cell phone rang and the DCI winced. Talking on the phone while driving in London was pure madness. “You answer it,” he ordered and handed the slim cell to a surprised Monaghan.

“DC Monaghan,” the younger man said into the phone. “Ah, Bean. What’s up?” He then listened to a long while was Bean was talking, and Viggo threw glances at him, wondering what Sean was saying. “What, a gay S&M club?” Dominic said, starting to laugh, and Viggo’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s priceless, mate!” He then sobered again as Bean continued to talk. “Yeah. We’re finished with the Sinclair bloke anyway. We’ll be there in a few.” A pause. “Yeah. Bye.”

He gave the cell back to the DCI and couldn’t stop grinning. “Yes,” Viggo prompted while he stuffed the phone back into his coat pocket. “What did Bean have to say?”

“That you’ll get a preview on some hot and heavy gay S&M scene,” Monaghan said and started to laugh again. “Oh God, I’m jealous. You and Bean’ll get to see some serious man-on-man action and all I’ll get is this dusty old journal!”

* * *

“The things we do for our country,” Bean grumbled as they were standing at the front door to ClubCP. “I never envisioned myself visiting this kind of place. Never.” He threw a dirty glance at his boss who was grinning at him. “Not a word from you, Viggo. Seriously.” Viggo mimed zipping his lips closed and throwing the key away.

”Not a word,” he promised. “Your manly hetero image will stay intact, no worries.”

The search in Jude’s apartment had resulted in the finding of a club membership card; ClubCP was a club for gay men, specializing in CP, S&M and bondage, and was located near King’s Cross on the corner of Balfe Street.

“What does CP even stand for?” Bean had asked in the car on their way to the club. “Probably something really gross.”

“Corporal punishment; you know, caning, flogging and all that” Viggo had answered, and then grinned at the raised eyebrow Sean was aiming at his way. “What? I’m supposed to know these things, Sean; I’m both gay and a cop.”

“That’s all I need to know, thanks,” Bean had said and mock-shuddered. “There are some things you should never have to learn about your mates.”

Now that they were about to enter the club the DS had to admit that on the outside it looked line any other club. He had expected naked-arsed men strolling around with whips and canes, but perhaps that was reserved for later hours; it was only midday, after all. The club was open only on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, so they were in luck. A man came out when they opened the door and looked at them curiously, and Viggo had to admit that they probably looked very out of place. Especially Sean who looked like he might bolt any second.

“Don’t look so scared, Sean,” Viggo said softly. “It’s just a few guys having some mutual fun. We probably won’t even see anything.”

“Right,” the DS said, and reminded himself that during his years in the Yard he’d seen a lot worse than a man being whipped by another man; and if it was consensual it was none of his business anyway. Inwardly he wondered why their cases never took them to straight S&M clubs, but then Viggo opened the door and he followed his boss inside the building.

In the inside it was dark after the bright daylight, and it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Sean was almost disappointed to see that they had entered the cloakroom that looked like any other cloakroom he had ever seen. The door at the end of the room led to the main bar area, and again, nothing special there.

“Where’s all the action?” Bean asked, looking around curiously. “Doesn’t look very corporal punishment to me.”

“Gentlemen, how can I help you?” A man dressed in black leather from head to toe had come to stand in front of them, looking at them warily. “I’m the manager of this place, and you’re obviously not here looking for pleasure,” he added, looking very deliberately at the detectives’ conservative woollen coats and black trousers. “Pity, though.”

“New Scotland Yard,” Viggo said, showing his badge. “We’re investigating the murders of two young men and would like to ask a few questions. Is that okay?”

The man pursed his lips. “Yes. We haven’t had any problems here, if that’s what you’re after,” he said questioningly. The DCI shook his head and the manager was visibly relieved. “Why don’t you come and talk with me in the office? I wouldn’t want to subject you to the sight of bare-arsed boys,” he said with a slight smile and Viggo decided that he liked the man.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “We would only like to show you some photos. We’d like to hear anything you might have to say about them.”

“I think you should talk with Phil then,” the man said, nodding to the direction of the bar counter. “He’s the bartender; he’s got a much better face memory than I do, and I don’t deal as much with the customers anyway.”

The detectives thanked him and approached the good-looking young man, Phil, who was wiping the counter and looked at them curiously, his eyes lingering especially on Bean who felt uncomfortable at being checked out by a man. “New Scotland Yard,” he said gruffly. “Would you please look at a few photos and tell us if you’ve seen them here before.” First Bean handed him a recent photograph of Elijah his mother had given him.

“No, never seen this lad,” Phil immediately said. “Doesn’t even look like the type to enjoy CP, if you know what I mean. He’d get eaten alive, that boy.” Then he was shown a picture of Jude. His eyes narrowed and he took a closer look. “Looks familiar, but there’s something…”

Viggo, remembering what Orlando had told him yesterday, spoke up. “Perhaps he was dressed in women’s clothes?”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Yes, of course. Long blonde hair, high-heeled leather boots. Yes, I do remember seeing him. Not for a little while, though. Has something happened to him?” His brown eyes shifted from DCI Mortensen to Bean.

“He was one of those boys murdered in St. James’s, you have probably heard of that,” Bean said bluntly. “Had he been a member for long? Do you have any kind of member database?”

“Sorry, no. We don’t ask any personal information about our customers,” the bartender said and handed the photos back. “Sorry, I wish I could help. He was a nice boy, didn’t have an attitude at all. We always talked a bit when he came by with his gentleman friend.”

“Gentleman friend?” Viggo asked. “He came here with a certain man?”

Phil nodded. “I knew he was a hooker, but he didn’t bring his johns here. He often had this older guy with him, and it didn’t look like they were doing business, if you get my meaning.”

“Can you describe the other man?” Bean flipped out his legal pad and a pen. “What was his age approximately?”

Phil’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think there was anything extraordinary about his looks. He was perhaps in his forties, dark-haired, pretty nice-looking for what I recall. They seemed to get on really well so it didn’t look like he was a john or anything like that.” He shrugged then. “But I could be wrong, of course. We’re a big club and we have a lot of customers, and I really can’t remember everyone.”

“Did they partake in the… happenings here?” Viggo asked, not exactly knowing which word to use to describe the activities that took place in a club like this. “Whippings and canings?”

“I think so, yeah,” Phil said and grinned. “The older guy was into whipping a lot, I remember. But only by his boyfriend. The boy was all active, I think; never saw him with a sore arse.” He leant forward and lowered his voice. “The guy always paid for their drinks, and let me tell you, he wasn’t a poor man at all.”

* * *

An hour later found three men taking part in an inpromptu meeting in the DCI’s office. Viggo was leaning on his desk with his arms folded across his chest, Bean was pacing the floor and Monaghan had found a comfortable seat on the small sofa near the door.

“So, what do we have now?” Viggo mused. “We have someone who has, or has had a reason to hate Jude. We have your suspicion that Elijah wanted to rat about his employer. We have Jude with a rich gentleman friend. But what is the connection between all this? Or was there even a connection to begin with? Maybe one of the boys just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I think we should do a search in Elijah’s room too,” Bean spoke up. “We need to find the cell phone. With any luck we’ll find the SIM card that will connect him to that phone call.”

Viggo nodded thoughtfully. “That certainly would make Csokas look rather bad, wouldn’t it? But let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet. What did the journal say?” the DCI asked, looking at Monaghan who was sitting on the couch with the book in his lap. “Did you have the time to have a look on it?”

“I leafed through it, yeah,” Dominic said. “A few pages had gone missing, but that’s something Jude could have done himself. There were no markings in the past few weeks, except for a few really mundane ones, such as ‘laundry at 11:30 am’ and the like. I saw something interesting, though. Look at this.”

DCI Mortensen took the journal from Monaghan to see what he was talking about. Four weeks prior of the day of the murder there was a small note.

”Got it. Will do it in 2 weeks. L’s chickenin out, we spoke earlier. What a pussy,” Viggo read aloud. He looked at his companions with his eyebrows raised. “What do you think that means?”

“That he was up to something,” Bean said immediately.

“L is chickening out,” Dominic repeated. “Seems like he and someone else were up to something.”

“But what? And who is L?” Viggo looked at the journal in his hands and mentally sighed. Seemed like he was fated to speak with Orlando again.

Orlando didn’t answer his cell, though, and the DCI was far from surprised; the boy was probably still embarrassed about the previous night, and in all likelihood angry as well. Viggo decided to try again later and then promptly pushed the thought out of his mind. He needed to stop by at the Forensics, not waste precious time on worrying about Orlando’s possible hurt feelings.

* * *

Orlando came from the kitchen with a steaming cup of green tea in his hand, his other hand still rubbing the shine treatment into his hair which was still damp after a long shower. Today had been hectic, and the morning’s class had been even more demanding than usual; voice and breathing practice, reading classes… Orlando made a face as he sipped the tea. How effin’ hard was it to learn to breathe properly? He hadn’t enrolled in the course to make breathing exercises; he wanted to learn to act.

A sudden sound from the hallway startled him, and when Orlando turned around and saw a masked man closing the front door behind him, and saw a set of keys - Jude’s keys, for fuck’s sake - dangling in his other hand he dropped the cup he was holding, not even noticing how the porcelain cup shattered into shards and how the hot drink splattered all over his sock-clad feet and the hems of his jeans, and took a few steps back, making to retreat into the kitchen.

“You stupid fucking whore, you should have kept your fucking mouth shut,” the man growled and he was so quickly upon Orlando that he didn’t have the time to react, and after the first five strikes hit Orlando blissfully fell into nothingness.

* * *

Phone ringing.

…

Phone ringing.

…

Orlando groaned quietly and rolled over to his left side, gasping as a searing pain flared from his ribcage. He coughed wetly and spit on the floor when his mouth filled with saliva and… blood. He tried to open his eyes only to find that his right eye was swollen shut, and the left one wouldn’t quite focus on anywhere. He remembered the punches, the kicks, the obscenities the man had shouted at him… The crack his re-broken nose had made once the man’s fist got in a good punch.

The phone rang again, and Orlando realised he needed to get into hospital. The phone wasn’t far; it was in the hallway table and slowly the boy crawled toward it.

”Help me,” he croaked into the receiver. “Help me. Whoever you are.”

”Orlando!” The shocked voice from the receiver belonged to the bastard of a DCI, Orlando recognised, and at the sound of a familiar voice he started to cry softly, certain now that he was safe.


TBC in Chapter Five